Exhibit 17.10

Someone decided to make a sculpture of their sadness.

This happens at least once a month at the building next to mine. Big men come and move some escaped and delinquent renter's stuff to the street. They put the clothes in black yard-waste bags and throw the televisions, dressers, toys, and the rest of their stuff onto the grass.

The entire neighborhood then picks over these abandoned possessions which never amount to nearly as much as you might think.

(And I do mean entire neighborhood. Where do you think I got these pants? If you said my mom bought them for me at J.C. Penney's, well...shut up.)

It always ends the same way: a broken chair and a box spring leaning against each other.

It's going to rain this afternoon.