A grey, cloudy, almost fall-like day, the air cool and moist as I walk down Union Street toward the greenmarket at Grand Army Plaza, and there, at the base of one of the trees that dot the sidewalk, are two large healthy looking mushrooms, peeking out round and brown and cheerful between the roots.
But, upon closer examination, I see that they aren't even attached to the ground. They're actually just a couple of store-bought crimini mushrooms that someone has, apparently, tossed on the ground for some reason.
The next tree along has shelf mushrooms, perched fetchingly over some small black turds where somebody failed to clean up after their dog.
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