on trashing seats

First the big one, then its mate, passed on through the iron gate and – poof – was merely litter. Now the broken, now the weak, the lame and worn-out, dusty thing, chucked, discarded, thrown away, its worth not real but token. Over railing, down it goes, through the trodden, spoiled snows, there to lie for two more weeks, the house is spacious, wide, and open. Dad he said to do this deed: Let us toss this worthless crap; solemnly we bid adieu, have a beer and take a nap.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥