"A memorial has been placed where a young man called 'Carl.' died in Shaftesbury Avenue, London. If we drove past this place where someone's life ended, the victim would just be a statistic but flowers are left to die too and touching poems and dedications are written by family and loved-ones. One reads: ""He was our North, our south/Our east, our West/Our working week and our Sunday rest/Our Noon, our Midnight, our talk, our song/We thought that love would last forever, we were wrong."" From a project about makeshift shrines: Britons have long installed memorials in the landscape: Statues and monuments to war heroes, Princesses and the socially privileged. We also nowadays lay wreaths to the ordinary who die suddenly - killed as pedestrians, as drivers or by alcohol, all celebrated on our roadsides and cities with simple, haunting remembrances."
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