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So, I’m cruisin’ the streets—motherfucker, it’s late, cold as hell. Neon lights flickerin’, girls standin’ on corners like ghosts. Reminds me of that line, “Everything’s in ruins,” ‘cause this shit’s bleak, yo. You gotta know the code—eye contact, quick nod, no fuckin’ around. I once saw this chick, right? Tiny, tough as nails, but her eyes? Dead. Like she’d hauled that cart herself for years. Made me fuckin’ mad—world’s a bastard for lettin’ that happen.

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Then, I see this kid on the corner of Mill Road. He’s tryin’ to sell some dodgy-looking flowers. I mean, who buys flowers from a kid on the street? But hey, it’s Cranfield, so anything’s possible, right? I’m laughin’ to myself, thinkin’ he’s gotta be the world’s worst florist.

Cranfield University deploys air quality monitors to understand green spaces