I’m assuming this is a bin, the type we find behind supermarkets where they throw the just out of date foods. This has my juices flowing to be honest and I can’t wait to write my piece and I can only do this because of the wonderful Rochelle who’s holding all this stuff together.
I’d also like to thank Rowena Curtin for the photo, and at the risk of telling an awful joke i might say its about time you pull your self together (no offence meant). So with this in mind i’d better stop digging my hole…
On My Marks…
They tumbled out of “Manhattans” kissing and slobbering all over eachothers faces, their lips and cheeks glistening with alcohol viscous sputum.
Grappling with eachother’s zips and buttons they stumbled into the snicket behind Farmfoods, throwing their coats onto the floor they tripped to the icy concrete behind the bins.
The rancid stench of the acrid vegetable juice puddle permeated their half discarded clothes as they passed out in a fug of happy hour shots and haplessly thrown together cocktails.
Only the morning came to; the winter sun low in the crystal blue sky, frost razor sharp on the bin edge.
And here we are, 100 words on the dangers of trying to have sex next to the bins after a night or revelry. Don’t do it kids! Enjoy.