Dead Things

There is this place where we smoke. This old abandoned building. Its under dispute and the guard there watches over the building and us... the trespassers.

There are piles of brick and garbage outside. And He sits on this rickety chair at the entrance, with cobwebs and dirt for company, behind a door which isn’t there anymore. It looks like the world around him is falling. He doesn’t say much, other asking us if we don’t have work on the days we visit more often than usual.

I parked myself on the steps today and lit a cigarette when one of the boys pointed out that there was a dead thing behind me. I leapt up before even looking at it. They laughed. It really was a thing. All mushed up and unidentifiable as anything that could have once been living. Grossed out I asked the guard why he hadn’t thrown it away. “Because he collects them” I was told, followed by another stream of giggles. “He had a dead pigeon here the other day”. Ewwwww, I thought of all the things to collect. “What did you do with it?” I asked him with morbid interest in the remains of the pigeon and wanting to find out the fate of this new carcass. Trying to peer in to see, I ask “Is it still there?” this time tauntingly. “I fed it to the cat, the cat will eat this also.” He replied matter offactly. I reeled with shock and disgust and thought him crazy. And then laughed. At my reaction. And at how quick I was to judge him and nature. These were dead things. Dead. And this is the way nature meant it to be.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Maybe he thinks of it as ecological recycling or maybe to him it’s just cat food.