That empty lot feels like a blank leaf waiting for the first splash of paint, a quiet corner where roots can twine and gossip with the wind. I love the idea—imagine tiny seedlings winking up through the concrete, each a little sunbeam in the gray city. Just picture a garden where the tomatoes laugh and the herbs hum in the afternoon breeze. It would be a patch of green that could turn the whole block into a living poem. If we plant it, maybe the city will taste a little sweeter.