When the two of you are sitting there just minding your own business and one of you feels a presence – maybe you are alerted by a slight sound or there’s a fragrance in the air, or perhaps it’s just a sixth sense that something isn’t right – so you swing around and there they are, the blue bins creeping up on you again. Lucky you put that wrought iron gate in place to stop them. I bet they weren’t expecting that.
But really, why can’t they leave you alone? It’s not as if you have anything they could want. Nothing to give them. Maybe it’s just company they seek. That primal instinct to bunch together like cows in a paddock or starlings at dusk. In which case, why aren’t they satisfied with their own company instead of always foisting themselves on you? I guess we’ll never know.
It sounds a bit petty – no doubt they are lovely bins – but why can’t you have just a few moments to yourselves without those bins constantly looking over your wingbacks? Is it too much to ask? Soon enough – too soon! – you’ll be gone, transported to that special place reserved for stripy green rolled arm armchairs that have seen better days, but in the meantime it would be nice – no, it would be lovely – if you could just be left alone in peace for a minute or two to gather your thoughts, just the two of you. You don’t even have to say anything to each other, not after all this time – what is there left to say? It’s enough just to sit there, like old times, reliving fading memories of indoor days.
Oh yes, those were the days. You had purpose then, a position in life. You knew where you were and what you were doing. And people respected you for it, thought you were useful, turned to you in their hour of need. You did good work. No one can deny that.
Ah well, no point in thinking about all that is there? Besides, the moment’s gone now, ruined by those bloody bins. Not much you can do about it except sit there and take it. That’s all you’re good for these days. Sitting there. Waiting. Minding your own business.
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