Slipped on a patch of ice and down I went, and the garage can came tumbling after. My entire life in a week on the patchy driveway I shared with six other houses. Coffee grounds and pizza boxes, bottles I couldn't be bothered to recycle. Crumpled up bills and soggy paper napkins. I used so many paper napkins and never really knew it until then. All the things I'd thrown away brought up again and iced. I had to touch them, my leftovers, all those forgotten pieces, relive them in my soaked and aching hands and jettison them again. Sore on my ass, khakis stained with cold dirt, I threw a bottlecap into a pothole and wondered if it would ever, ever be fixed.
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