How strange that some objects hang about for years. Tall buildings get built and fall down in under thirty years. Governments fall apart in less than five. A record shop near me opened and closed within six months.
But other random things sit around, and never get disturbed. Bits of rusty fence. Signage for long closed shops. Posters for films that left the cinemas decades ago. If nobody cares, nothing changes.
The bin by the newsagent was a good example of this phenomena. It was your standard shopside litter depository, with a sky blue body, and a pink top. A stick on sign displayed a brand of ice cream, and a photo of their wares.
But as a fun twist, the hole where you threw in drinks cans and crisps formed the mouth of a monster's face on the top of the bin. This gave the impression that it ate any rubbish you deposited within. Two plastic fangs on the top lip added to the illusion. Sandwich packets turned from a waste product to the food of a mythical animal.
A bit of a laugh, and fun for commuters and school kids. But a clearly transient container. Something designed to last a few years, before being replaced by the latest model. A unicorn bin with a fine plastic horn would have been a brilliant design.
But the bin remained for over a decade. The plastic turned almost translucent under the relentless beat of the sun. The black ink of the pupils became chipped and ragged. A teenager snapped off one of the fangs. The franchise of ice cream changed three times.
But still the bin remained.
After a while I stopped putting my rubbish inside. Something felt off. Using the bin for its original purpose was like hanging dog waste on a mossy statue in the woods. I thought it might disappear if we starved it to death.
But still the bin remained.
A pale dose of winter sunset helped me make the decision. The dimming light and drizzle had chased everyone else away. I decided to look inside the bin. Just a peek. Just to confirm if my suspicions were correct.
Lolly sticks and coffee cups littered the bottom like bones. What lived inside was wet, and had green scales. Long octopus-like tendrils clung to the sides, almost embedded on the faded plastic. They connected a central rubbery sphere, where an orange beak croaked in short deep bursts. Two scarlet eyes swiveled towards me.
I realised in all the years the bin had been in place I had never seen anyone empty it. Even on the busiest day, the rubbish never overflowed, or even came close to having banana skins and coffee cups sticking out of that grinning mouth. The bin had dealt with everything deposited within for all this time, independently of the outside world.
Anything that ended up inside would soon be dealt with, so the bin could rest for another ten years. Anything at all.
Line: Sandwich packets turned from a waste product to the food of a mythical animal.
