January 25th, 2022

The clock has just hit midnight exactly. It is dead silent outside and all creatures big and small lay asleep. Two dumpsters sit just a short distance apart, appearing unaffected by the world. A letter, short and sweet floats from one trash receptacle to the next, as it has done for many years. 

For my beloved, 

To be a dumpster in love is difficult. In fact, being a dumpster at all has its challenges. Day after day we are bruised and battered by the slamming of lids and chucking of bags. I have never felt as clean as the day I entered this world. Since then I have been covered in all manner of muck. From applesauce to melted cheese; I have worn it all. Yet, despite all of this mistreatment I have found comfort in your love and companionship. I only ask to be able to see your face or touch you in the way the humans do with one another. Is it a crime to want to be near one’s lover? What atrocities have we dumpsters committed that we must be forever separate? I am  not sure I will ever understand this. 

-A dumpster mid-existential crisis, Robert. 

P.S. How are David and Carol? I miss those rambunctious racoons. 

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To my worrywart boyfriend, 

I know exactly what you mean. Just yesterday, one of the ladies who works in the building next door, the one who wears those awful orange ballet flats, was in a particularly rotten mood and decided to use me as her kicking post of choice. I sat there for all but fifteen minutes while she assaulted my gorgeous blue sides and scream-cried about some man by the name of Gerald.  I better than most understand the strength of emotional turmoil, seeing as I am unable to close the distance between us, but she did not have to take it out on me! I am scuffed on the right side now and fear I will never recover. The only positive effect of this experience is that I believe as she was kicking me the woman may have bumped my wheels and moved me over a smidge. At least I am now that much closer to your sickly scented but loving presence. 

At least my dear, we know how to make the best of our situation. Do you recall that lovely summer evening upon which a trash bag had been caught between the gap keeping us apart? It was as if we were holding hands to show affection as the humans do. I have never felt closer to your touch than in that moment. 

As for David and Carol they’re doing great. I highly suspect that Carol is pregnant again but she won’t reveal anything to me, you know how she is. I sincerely hope I am correct, a little youth would certainly brighten up this bland parking lot we inhabit. 

-Your favorite waste basket, Trash Boy. 

P.S. I love you with all my heart.