Two summers ago in a trash can in Brooklyn, I saw a pair of Ugg boots covered in blood. I remembered the University of Washington campus, the endless motion of 40,000 Ugg boots, the feeling that there had been a failed attempt to produce something like the assortment of objects recovered from a house fire, or a word that is funny simply because of the voice of the person who speaks it. I saw the discarded Ugg boots and felt relieved that at least in one trash can, no one was trying to produce anything.
