Trash Talk

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The dumpster never arrives on time. She sits there on the steps of the front porch.

Waiting.Singing.Whistling.

She tied up the unwanted today.In neat little bags with the zeal of  partial OCD case. She leaves them a bit disorganized for the same.

The wait always is long, patience getting the better of her,every second not passing.She see’s the little blue shoe peeping out from a hole in the enormous black baggage.Her hands reach towards it with a mind of their own. Wriggling it out of the blackness and the burden. Soon the memories flood her.The reason for her love for the color blue renewed.

She resists one last time but checks her watch giving the dumpster a last chance to turn around the corner.

Turning back she opens the door and the unwanted is dumped on her. Perhaps like an avalanche or a waterfall, I wouldn’t know.

And this is how her weekend goes. Her year passes by.

These cyclic events that occur, because the dumpster never arrives on time.

illustration 2

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