The trees drip cheap plastic colored bead necklaces, like so much Spanish moss dipped in plastic. Workmen assiduously take down seating stands. Some are merely metal girded structures, but some stands have wooden walls painted with wild, celebratory figures. The fancy-stand seats have names on them like Councilwoman Jane Doe. A bit of trash strays here and there, although it's entirely uncertain if it's festive trash or trash in permanent residence. The little garden park bears that "they trampled me last Tuesday" look, in which even the flowers look as though Spring has its dangers as well as its blessings. The weather is temperate, the wind is mild, and yet lawyers bear a mildly breeze-assaulted, perspiring perplexion as they muddle on to court. A boarded up set of windows across the street suggests that somebody has given up something, but nobody is quite sure what is left to give. The fat is gone. Renewal is yet to come.