Someone died on my street last year. I saw the makeshift shrine appear on the telephone pole the day after the car accident: flowers, photos, messages, a cross. Over the next couple of weeks the flowers died and the photos became water-stained. One day, as I waited at a bus stop across the street, I saw a Volkswagen beetle with a florist's logo pull up beside the telephone pole. The driver got out with a delivery of fresh flowers. I saw him stop and look at the address on the label, then at the telephone pole, and again at the label. He'd been asked to deliver flowers to a telephone pole.