hot_dogs tender_square the half-filled black bags of trash fill the outdoor bin. the tenant stacks their heaving shapes like a jenga pile, mixing it up with the odd red cloth bag from metro. i have wanted to untie the fabric knots and peek at what he throws away when his apartment reeks of rotting. i have marveled that one tiny man can produce waste equivalent to half of his weight weekly. a friend suggested that people who eat poorly tend to generate more refuse; processed food is heavily packaged. the tenant doesn't recycle boxes or cans. after living here for four months, he eats on paper plates by choice. is there anything sadder than hot dogs for dinner? the tenant sits on the stoop looking out onto the boulevard. he holds the bun in hands that seem no bigger than a child's, and keeps a juice box within arms reach. when i'm too tired to cook, i resort to the same depressing meal as a single person. and i think about the two of us eating in our separate corners, alone. 230808 what's it to you? who go blather from