Big brown and green contraption smells foul and rank. Flies buzz about and it is difficult to approach. The closer one gets, the more difficult it becomes to bear. Hiding my face with a red handkerchief as I look away; The smell stings my eyes. Garbage abound, this dumpster is overfilled and was skipped on its last delivery. The decomposition of food waste and lord knows what else is absolutely unbearable. It is a hot summer day and it has not even reached its peak. 8AM produces a balmy and humid 88 degrees. It’s going to be a scorcher. The man on the radio said so. I had turned the volume up so I could hear the weather report better. The 1994, hand-me-down Mercedes-Benz that someone in the corporate world bought for top price because they saw it in the catalog; for prestige; for wealth; for envy. All the good, wrong things you’d expect. Sometimes people can be stereotypical, predictable, caricatures. Sometimes not; Sometimes we think we know everything and are often surprised by what we discover and find. Like maps and compasses on the bottoms of overturned rocks in the middle of nowhere. In thirsty desolation, isolation; In drought. Dried up riverbeds that have skulls and cracks. Oregon Trail mural that will never be as entertaining or cool as the original computer game. A game with a mission. Good marketing. Guess it worked. Like some CompUSA Shakespearean play that just never worn out its welcome; An instant classic. Instant oatmeal, instant coffee, Sanka. Pathetic crystals. But I guess it was good marketing; I guess it made sense at the time. With the space program and all, and with NASA getting off the ground. Space age caffeinated crystals. Back when the populace didn’t realize the coffee they were drinking was shit (well, who knows if that know that now)? Icicle, ice cream cones, I mean, anything to drift my mind from this heat and stench. The dumpster in the empty parking lot has a mattress sticking out and I wouldn’t mind knowing its history, but from a distance, please. I’d watch the movie. Well…maybe I wouldn’t. Wooden palettes, broken and dilapidated, lean up against the beast as best it can. And when the truck finally does come to put that dumpster away, to dump its contents out, it will be loud and I want to be nowhere near it. Office Park parking lot. Middle/central New Jersey. Those long stretches of roads that are like a time machine back to the 1980s, where there is marble in the lobby and wood panelling in antiquated offices. Where there is still a box of Sanka tucked away somewhere that is a sort of running joke of the office that everyone makes fun of from time to time, but won’t throw out. Jupiter, Mars, Uranus, and Saturn. Planets and orchestral scores that exist in a child’s room who will know nothing of this future because what importance or relevance does it have. The signs that used to hang that said ‘No Smoking’; In stairwells, lobbies, hotels, and restaurants – Airplanes.

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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