The Grass Mask
In a bustling city center a woman rounds a corner with her eyes fixed on the sidewalk a few feet ahead of her. She walks with purpose, her dress shoes striking a diligent rhythm on the concrete. Her business skirt is tight and as she walks its sharp movement amplifies the intensity of her stride. She stops at an intersection. The dense traffic has come to a standstill belching exhaust onto the crowded sidewalk. The light changes and she maneuvers through the gridlocked traffic blocking the crosswalk. She avoids eye contact, but receives stares. Covering her face is a gas mask with wheatgrass growing where the filter should be. With each breath the grass absorbs some of the toxins in the air around her and she inhales some freshly generated oxygen.