The flowers for the 150 bus driver who gave him a Leap card “Gowan ahead 😉” and she and her 150 was a no show for 2 hrs.
Bin is being removed by local council. One last deposit.
Gift from the three wise men.
— He’s gone, said Larry.
— I know, said Anto.
— Fuckin’ gone.
— I know.
They stood there, the two of them, looking at the bin. It was dark now. The streetlight was flickering the way it always did, like it was trying to make up its mind about something.
— D’you remember, said Anto. When Slinky threw the kebab at your man from Crumlin?
— I do, yeah.
— An’ he missed.
— He did.
— An’ Gobshite caught it. The whole thing. Garlic sauce an’ all.
— An’ we slagged him for ages saying he got cream pied by a doorty kebab.
Larry was welling up a bit and guffawed. He sniffed like he was sniffing the air.
— He never judged, said Larry.
— No.
— Never once.
— That’s right.
— You could put anythin’ in there. Anythin’. An’ he’d just take it.
— He was like a priest, said Anto. — But useful.
They were quiet for a bit. A woman walked past with a small dog. The dog sniffed at the base of the bin and the woman yanked him away like Gobshite was contagious.
— Fuck off, said Larry. But quietly. After she’d gone.
Anto had the flowers. He’d found them outside Tesco. Some young fella had been standing there, looking at his phone, looking at the flowers, looking at his phone again. Then he’d said somethin’ that sounded like “bollix” and just left them on the ground.
— Perfect, Anto had said.
He placed them on top of Gobshite now. And as if having a second thought he picked them up and placed it in Gobshite’s mouth. Pink ones. A white one. A red one that was a bit crushed.
— Should we say somethin’? said Larry.
— Like wha’?
— I don’t know. A prayer or somethin’.
— Do you know any prayers?
— No.
— Deadly.
They stood there a bit more.
— He was a good bin, said Larry.
— The best.
— Dublin City Council won’t replace him.
— They will not.
— They’ll put in one of them new ones. The ones with the hole tha’ you can’t fit anythin’ into.
— With the flap.
— The bleedin’ flap.
Anto shook his head.
— It’s progress, he said.
— It’s not, said Larry. It’s not progress. It’s just shite.
A bus went past. The 46A. It didn’t stop.
— Will we go? said Anto.
— In a minute.
Larry put his hand on the bin. Just for a second. The metal was cold and a bit sticky.
— Thanks, he said.
— For wha’? said Anto.
— I wasn’t talkin’ to you.
— Oh, yeah. Right.
They walked off then, toward the chipper, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. Behind them, the roses sat there in the dark, poking out of Gobshite’s mouth, who had never asked for thanks and who had never, not once, let Dublin down.
Delivered at 13:43 by EVRI
She said no
Roses are red. Violets are blue. Give me a screw or I’ll bin you & the roses too…. 🚮
I put flowers in the bin, which were worth as much as a gram of tin.
I showed you my love, you gave me nought.
I took the time I gave you wine, why won’t you be mine.
I walked home, with the flowers I brought.
I was dejected, distort, so the bin I thought.
The love that was not.
That bin is the next one to get married among their friends.
26 comments
Funeral was last week
There’s a bin man out there somewhere with a secret admirer
Someone died there
That’s where they left the body, remembrance day 🎉🥳
A modern art masterpiece.
A rubbish date
Postmodern art piece on the futility of sausage rolls.
Fertile rubbish
Someone was running late to the petrol station flowers onlympics so they gave up
This happened a few years ago. Man smoked salvia. Believed he had to feed the bin a bouquet of flowers or it would eat his whole family.
That’s not the post box.
It’s Dublin’s answer to the NYC flower flash, but without the budget
https://preview.redd.it/8ec7bh5dq7ag1.jpeg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=80f8438199252174e64fda47f87fae752bd2882a
I too miss my ex.
Anniversary of man slips on ice
Peach is on another castle
The flowers for the 150 bus driver who gave him a Leap card “Gowan ahead 😉” and she and her 150 was a no show for 2 hrs.
Bin is being removed by local council. One last deposit.
Gift from the three wise men.
— He’s gone, said Larry.
— I know, said Anto.
— Fuckin’ gone.
— I know.
They stood there, the two of them, looking at the bin. It was dark now. The streetlight was flickering the way it always did, like it was trying to make up its mind about something.
— D’you remember, said Anto. When Slinky threw the kebab at your man from Crumlin?
— I do, yeah.
— An’ he missed.
— He did.
— An’ Gobshite caught it. The whole thing. Garlic sauce an’ all.
— An’ we slagged him for ages saying he got cream pied by a doorty kebab.
Larry was welling up a bit and guffawed. He sniffed like he was sniffing the air.
— He never judged, said Larry.
— No.
— Never once.
— That’s right.
— You could put anythin’ in there. Anythin’. An’ he’d just take it.
— He was like a priest, said Anto. — But useful.
They were quiet for a bit. A woman walked past with a small dog. The dog sniffed at the base of the bin and the woman yanked him away like Gobshite was contagious.
— Fuck off, said Larry. But quietly. After she’d gone.
Anto had the flowers. He’d found them outside Tesco. Some young fella had been standing there, looking at his phone, looking at the flowers, looking at his phone again. Then he’d said somethin’ that sounded like “bollix” and just left them on the ground.
— Perfect, Anto had said.
He placed them on top of Gobshite now. And as if having a second thought he picked them up and placed it in Gobshite’s mouth. Pink ones. A white one. A red one that was a bit crushed.
— Should we say somethin’? said Larry.
— Like wha’?
— I don’t know. A prayer or somethin’.
— Do you know any prayers?
— No.
— Deadly.
They stood there a bit more.
— He was a good bin, said Larry.
— The best.
— Dublin City Council won’t replace him.
— They will not.
— They’ll put in one of them new ones. The ones with the hole tha’ you can’t fit anythin’ into.
— With the flap.
— The bleedin’ flap.
Anto shook his head.
— It’s progress, he said.
— It’s not, said Larry. It’s not progress. It’s just shite.
A bus went past. The 46A. It didn’t stop.
— Will we go? said Anto.
— In a minute.
Larry put his hand on the bin. Just for a second. The metal was cold and a bit sticky.
— Thanks, he said.
— For wha’? said Anto.
— I wasn’t talkin’ to you.
— Oh, yeah. Right.
They walked off then, toward the chipper, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. Behind them, the roses sat there in the dark, poking out of Gobshite’s mouth, who had never asked for thanks and who had never, not once, let Dublin down.
Delivered at 13:43 by EVRI
She said no
Roses are red. Violets are blue. Give me a screw or I’ll bin you & the roses too…. 🚮
I put flowers in the bin, which were worth as much as a gram of tin.
I showed you my love, you gave me nought.
I took the time I gave you wine, why won’t you be mine.
I walked home, with the flowers I brought.
I was dejected, distort, so the bin I thought.
The love that was not.
That bin is the next one to get married among their friends.
https://preview.redd.it/2z6ln922k8ag1.jpeg?width=3024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6218a89f9da9a7901eedb5e60b5b4f06675dd048
Reminds me of this scene I came across by the Heineken brewery. I swear to god I didn’t even move the rose.
Flowers were delivered successfully. There’s two people sharing a bunk bed in there because the rent on it is 2k a month.
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