Nothing is really inanimate. If you have an imaginashun, that is.

I pass those street lights of Baie d’Urfé, a municipality that straddles the twennie – Autoroute-20, in local langue. Twenty becomes twennie. Folks here have soft palates and try not ta pronounce ‘T’s if they can help it. ‘T’s are precious letters here. If you delve into the offshore accounts of Canadians at Mossack Fonseca, they have nothing but ‘T’s in ’em. Baie d’Urfé falls on the way ta work.

Oh yeah, even letters have a life of their own. Take ‘S’ for instance – isn’t it a really funny letter? It makes me ROFL when I hear it. ‘P’ turns me on. And no, it has nothing ta do with being the first letter of the word…y’know, the one that stands for female kittens.

About everything else having a sort of life of their own, those street lights appear to be bowing, paying homage to their star, coming up over the horizon. ‘What took ya so long, boss? We are freezing our LEDs here.’