Dumpster Dying

“This’ll ne’er work,” the pink monster said with sharp whispers.

“It won’t if you don’t shut up,” Rocky shot back with equal sharpness.

“¿What’s that noise?”

Rocky cursed as he dug himself into the ketchup-soaked burger wrappers & cardboard cup holders, only to peek outside & see the pink monster frozen. He reached a paw out & yanked the pink monster down inside, & slowly lowered the lid o’er them.

Outside they could hear the idle scratches o’ feet on pavement. Poking his head up just ‘nough to see out the thin slit, Rocky saw a man with smeared make up all o’er his face & carrot-orange hair tufts, holding a huge cleaver & a million-kilometer stare. The man paused for a minute, seeming to not e’en breathe, & then turned & walked ‘way.

The pink monster began quietly coughing & heaving. “Ugh…”

“Welcome to the raccoon life, buddy,” said Rocky. “That fancy marketing job o’ yours is starting to look much better, huh.”


Raccoon, Rim, Ronald