Life in the Can


As I wander the spring filled city streets of London, gazing up at all around me, the sun sparkling off of forgotten rain drops, a young man walks ahead of me sipping from an energy drink. The sort that is un-ironically named Bolt Energy or something of similar delirious nonsense. He takes two further sips from it before slyly looking around himself, dropped his centre of gravity ever so slightly then adeptly flings the can away out on to the empty street. A further sly glance around follows before he continues with his day happy in his indiscretion. Today however was not such a day for getting away with such callousness, I lift the blue and silver aluminium bolt, over extending my shoulder far behind me before unleashing it, Zeus like. Glittering righteously through the air before satisfyingly meeting its mark, the faded slick haired head of its abandoner. It’s satisfying projection is followed through the air by rightful and profane verbal volley of mine. As the fool nurses the back of his head I proudly stroll past, pleasant faced but fire in my eyes. Burning shame into his damned, littering soul.

Before I knew it I had been stood stationary, staring at the lonely discarded can for nearly 10 minutes day dreaming of such a scenario. One strong enough to have taken hold. So I scooped up the can, rescuing it from its discardment, and scanned the area for the offender who obviously within my decision window of near 10 minutes had vanished, likely helped by his renewed energy levels. Leaving me sheepishly clutching a dirty second hand can, which I, out of embarrassment I try to hide while also keeping it’s dripping contents at arms length in an oxymoronic fashion, which I carry for a further two minutes before laying it to rest with in it’s green lined rebirthing chamber, of a recycling receptacle.

Littering has always been one of my highest ranking bugs and while I dream of unleashing my pent up internal eco-warrior upon society. I sense my gangly unformidable frame wouldn’t even strike fear in to the heart of a lost tortoise. Instead I’ve had to boil my annoyances down to this here sad post, attempting humour to try and hide the true extent of my feelings. Although before we go any further I would like to admirably point out that I’m not perfect. I can’t fit a years worth of rubbish into the palm of my hand I do recycle as much as I can, I clear up after others and I try to avoid using disposables where I can for example. I just try to be a genuine and responsible being of the human race as best I can and that’s all I wish to ask of others. I don’t ever expect others to do more then even I would wish to and have the highest regard for those who do. It is a case of education and engraining respect and not treating the world as your own personal doormat. Education on the matter however is all around us, hiding in plain sight, of course it is a case of being willing to see it and to absorb such information. It’s there in film, tv, books and even in the humble pages of comic books, interlaced with the horrifying pages of Swamp Thing lies a message of caring for and sustaining our planet and in the madness of Animal Man are sage words of protecting animals, recycling and being responsible of our own resources.

Superheroes may be contained to the pulp pages of comics but legends do tell of the occasional heroic figure. A heroic drunken figure who picks up a discarded cigarette butt, dropped from an open car window into the dismal gutter, before flicking it back at the evil doer. Before the villain can react our hero is flanked by their comrade in arms, their chest hairs bristling green and their eyes burning hard cold shame into the drivers heart. As with many things I wished such heroes didn’t have to exist in the first place. For it is only when evil is present that there is a need for the good to rise up like a bolt of charged energy ready to deliver it’s heroic blow. But I’m glad we have them when they are needed though.


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