A Drunk and Debauched Recycling Box

Bacon roll.

Our red recycling box has been on a five-day bender. I just found it filthy and disorderly outside a bar, reeking of fags and booze.

The blue one pulled the last disappearing act, resurfacing some weeks later, following what may have been a torrid affair with a neighbour. I found it a street away, sitting dejectedly on the pavement, a chip missing from one corner (we never mistreat them so).

It's as though a life as a receptacle for empty receptacles weren't fulfilling enough.