The Freshkills landfill is not a metaphor. It is an epicenter. The great negativity, the great void that overwhelms us, the emptiness, the endless vanity of our protected existences come from Freshkills and propagate, like an invisible wave, endlessly, over the smooth and civilized territory of the normalized city. Everything is suddenly organized and everything makes sense, like a line, like a red thread that encircles our necks and tightens: childhood crisscrossed, overprotected, domesticated, the exploitation of a hybrid natural area, unstable, unfit for anything , the destruction of all wild life, poaching and aimless strolls, the negation of junk as an organic fragment, dynamic and in perpetual metamorphosis, the advent of a space of conformable leisure, while awaiting the return of the promoters, and the simulated recreation of an identical landscape, but without wandering, without deviance, without freedom - that makes sense, and the same system.