Anyone who lives in an actual ecosystem, one that is not dominated by concrete and asphalt off which the trill of horns and car alarms can be heard echoing in the night, has no frikkin idea what an ecosystem really is. It is not the cacophony of traffic punctuated by an olfactory brawl between diesel fumes, a pine tree shaped “new car smell” air freshener,” the infrequent bathing habits of a middle eastern cab driver, and your cinnamon latte. Wildlife is not defined by the alcoholic mating calls of things that stumble out of neon lit night clubs, or the guttural whispers emanating from ill-lit, trash filled alleys. And conservation is not an extra crate from Crate and Barrel into which you place the recyclable refuse of fair-trade certified foods.