It’s strange how long you can live in one place and still find yourself in streets you’ve never seen. I overshot my train station on the commute home from work. On the ass backwards walk home, I happened upon the unimaginable filth of a hoarders abode. I mean, it was hideous! Stacks as high as the eves, all sorts of unholy mess! In amongst the debris was a 40L jug, clear, glass and purpose built for my needs.
The plan was simple: head back at nightfall to commandeer this jug, clear and glass, that he would surely never notice gone, let alone miss it. Unfortunately when I returned, “Dr. Debris” was outside wallowing in his rubbish, quite literally. Imagine a bat shit crazy, 60 something year old with a white, knee length beard draped over what could have been full term triplets. Both worsened by his tiny stature.
Anyway, I didn’t mind paying $20 for it in the end. It came with a free history lesson on the bottles every conceivable usage, both previous and posthumous and the exact date he acquired it. His welcoming proposal of entry to his kingdom: the rubbish museum, for no extra charge was not something I had expected nor wanted. I respectfully declined. So now comes the tricky part, what is a polite point of departure? My mind starts to race. Will he even let me leave?! Am I to become an unholy collectable of Dr. Debris ?
“wat’chyer gunna do whit’it anyways?” He said.
“Um, a terrarium…?” I reply.
Why does he care? I thought. He just made $20. Probably use the money to buy some candles and keep that death trap lit at night.
“NO!” he shouts. “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”
As polite a time as any, right? I ran home with my big jug over shoulder like I had stolen the fucking thing anyway. Dirty, creepy, smelly, crazy old man…….I liked him.
Despot Degeneracy 