There comes a day when people start to mistake you for a

trashcan. A bin!
How? Simple.
You stop to light a fag, a door opens, an old woman comes out of
her house with a garbage can and, without looking at you, dumps
her rubbish all oer your feet.
!Shit!" you cry, !Hae you lost your mind?"
#ut the woman seems completely deaf. She goes back inside and
closes the door without a second glance.
You dust yourself o$ and go on your way. %erhaps you think
shes an idiot.
&ater on, while you wait for a bus, a small, stray dog comes up
and pisses on your shoes. The people around you can hardly
contain themseles. As for you, you stand there so stunned that
you forget to een kick the animal.
'hile at the o(ce, your co)workers begin slipping balls of paper
into your pockets. This must be a new joke, you think to yourself
but you don*t dare say anything.
At a restaurant, a waiter brings you the check and cannot preent
himself from pushing it under your collar.
+n the street, more and more, people shoe their orange peels
into your mouth.
!They*re all insane!" you repeat to yourself but you don*t hae
the energy to ,ght.
At night, when you get home, your pockets are full with bits of
paper, toothpicks, coke cans, corks, bottles, cigarette butts and
broken watches.
Perhaps I really am a human-trashcan, you wonder to yourself,
in a -uiet moment.
Some days later, when someone places a crumpled pack of
cigarettes under your hat, you ask.
!/o + look like a bloody bin?"
The man seems uncomfortable as he lowers his ga0e and replies.
!Yes, you do."
!How is that possible?" you say.
!+ don*t know but that*s e1actly what you are. You sir, are a
human)trashcan."
A human)trashcan?
2What it is,* you decide, 2is that the world has gone mad.*
The way home from the o(ce gets worse each day and by the
time you get home your pockets are crammed with scraps3 the
lining of your clothes feels heaier and heaier. %eople een wait
for you to slip shards of glass and used ra0orblades into your
briefcase. 4en on the bus, the passengers don*t spare you,
placing their used tickets in your hand while the kids stick
chewing gum 5 that has 6ust left their mouths 5 to your shirt.
You try to ,gure out what has happened to you, 2maybe Im too
placid,* you say to yourself. Still you feel no desire to protest. +n
fact, eery time someone shoes some rubbish into your pocket a
kind of discreet and reassuring warmth come oer you. 'hen you
make eye)contact people almost always smile at you.
Sometimes, when a person doesn*t seem to be in a hurry, you
politely say.
!41cuse me, may + ask you a -uestion?"
!Yes, of course."
!'hy do you throw your rubbish at me rather than in a bin?"
!You know, it*s rather strange, it*s 6ust a re7e1."
!#ut you can clearly see that + am a human being3 that + moe
and breathe. 4ssentially, that + am a citi0en like any other."
!Yes but8you hae something more. Your appearance, your
countenance, your whole way of being8well, how can + put this?
Your being8if you like, attracts garbage."
4en though your walks are becoming more dangerous you
consciously take the risk, unfailingly won oer by the pleasure of
the ineitable.
A ta1i drier, who obiously detests rats, wants to crush you
under his wheels and pursues you through the streets for hours,
like a madman.
An old man with a serene face approaches you calmly and spits
on you. Three men, dressed in black, kidnap you in the street and
take you to an empty room. The gag you and tie you to the foot
of a chair. The city*s philosopher climbs onto a stage and lectures
you on the di(culties of being. our mind captures these
screams like a black hole traps the residue o! the creation o! the
world.
"h immortality. What trash#
9eed to ,nd out how that last sentence :in italic; reads in <omanian because there is no
mention of screams prior to the sentence aboe, and yet the phrase these screams implies
otherwise.