Hi friends,I collect scraps.A scrap is small and stubborn. A sentence heard at the shops. The squeak of a trolley. The way a dog lies stretched out in the sun. The neighbours laugh through a fence at 10pm — too loud, then fine, then kind of perfect. I learned this in New York, you stare out the window and the city tells you what it’s doing: a man in hi-vis talking to a tree; a kid