The queue snaked outside the Kennington JobCentrePlus into the pavement and the sleeting April rain the day I saw her shedding leaves all over the threadbare carpet, having eventually gained access while chewing my lip and checking the knock-off smartwatch my work coach sneered at me for owning since I was supposed to be skint but then I felt her branches dripping on my Primark boots, the ones with exactly two hours left before the soles sloped off their stitching and I sighed and squelched my toes in their holey socks, rocking on my heels as the queue inched forward and she just shrugged and cascaded scarlet and mustard foliage down my back and after that it was hard to stay angry because, well, beauty has privilege and that kind of casual tactlessness comes with the territory and even though she had briefly made herself tiny so as to get through the door, once inside she took up so much space I couldn’t understand why the world didn’t stop to look at her, to stroke her trunk, to gather her leaves, and I wanted to protect her from the security guard who kept barking at us to stop pushing even though no one was and for a half a beat I wasn’t worried about being sanctioned for lateness even though it was the queue that made me so and I had actually arrived ten minutes early but they never care do they so instead I asked if I could spread myself over her roots to keep them warm and her creaky laugher quivered through her branches and she said no, no climb on up that’s what you need, climb on up to the very top.