Night, Out on my porch. The orange glow from the street lights Flicker through the deep blue hue. Looking down, I catch myself fiddling, winding the ties belonging to the recycled plastic shopping bag in my clutch. I wonder why street lights are orange. Are they supposed to mimic the â€˜slow down to stopâ€™ orange traffic light? Iâ€™m dawdling. Must hurry. Deposit this bag and its contents in the rubbish bin under the orange light. â€œYou dropped your bagâ€. Zone in fast, orange to green, so to speak. Focusing, I see someone in the orange glow. We both stand looking down at the soiled nappies exposed by a tear, In the bag. â€œHow oldâ€? A jovial jest. Confident that they're wondering about the age of the nappy wearer. â€œ24â€ I reply. â€œAww 24 monthsâ€? They assume. â€œNo, 24 yearsâ€. Red, means stop then.