Satisfied, Rita pulled the flexible hose that was Jane’s only contact with the outside world, to the top of the sack and, using the cable ties, secured the bag so that the breathing tube just poked out, but was partially obscured by the bag.



Opening another garden bag, Rita emptied the contents of one of the sacks that she had already filled into the bottom, before lifting and rolling the Jane sack into the new one. More waste from other sacks was then poured down the sides so that, if anybody was to lift the sack, they would not be able to feel what, or who, was inside. Finally satisfied, Rita dragged the trash out and placed it next to the bin.



Jane had a terrible night. When Rita had piled the sanitary ware in her face, she had nearly wretched. Then, she had panicked as more waste was poured over her head until she was buried. She could not see and, by the time Rita had finished with her, all that she could hear was the rustle of paper and plastic. She felt cold and slimy. Gooey stuff stuck to her body in places that made it seem as though she had messed herself. She was a sticky, filthy waste. Perhaps Rita had been right. Perhaps this was her rightful place. After all, she had betrayed their friendship. Perhaps Jane was a trashy whore and deserved no better.



Jane spent a fitful night, either mourning her friendship, indulging in self pity or generally cursing herself. Finally she fell asleep. Luckily for her, it was a warm night and, although the various foods and sauces had cooled down, the extra paper and packing served to keep her warm enough throughout the night. However, it was still cold enough to numb her limbs and senses.

Jane woke with a start. She was being lifted. What, she wondered, did Rita have planned now? Then she heard a familiar noise. The sound of garbage truck. By the time she realised that the bin men had arrived, she was already being picked up and thrown into the garbage truck. She tried to call out, but the noise of the truck as its compactor got to work drowned out her efforts. Her limbs, still numb and cold, refused to obey her as she struggled in her sack and, still writhing, the compactor shoved her into the cramped interior of the truck.



Although she did not know it, this was her lucky day. The truck made a strange noise and, despite trying to clear debris from the mechanism and hitting the button several times, the compactor would not work.



“Bloody hydraulics init, intoned Burt sagely as he gave the truck a good kick, spitting on the rear tyre for good measure.



“Wassat Burt?



“I said it’s the hydralics init. Shoulda known soon as we booked out 97. Vis buggas been on it’s last legs for ages, Burt continued.



The crew thought about this for a moment or two.



“Wat we doin then?”



Burt considered.



“Bugger all we can do. Can’t put much more in there. Lets dump vis load and gaback to yard. See if 38s out of the shop.”



After a little thought the crew agreed and drove the truck, with its half load, to the tip. Although Jane had heard the noise and despite being a little cramped, she did not know that she would not be crushed or suffocated and so was very surprised to feel the back of the truck deposit her and the rest of the load onto the garbage dump.



Old Ron was a scavenger. He had been scavenging for years, ever since he had started living on the streets. Begging was all well and good, but it couldn’t literally put a roof over your head, unless you used the money in one of those dam shelter things. Ron had grown too old on the streets to waste his money on such luxuries. But the amount that people just threw away. Now that was a crying shame. Ron darted in between the trucks, keeping out of the way of the scoops, as he searched for tit bits. Then, something caught his eye. An in tact bag. You could get all sorts out of a decent bag. Ron scurried over and pulled the bag clear of the diggers as they carried on their eternal quest of distributing the waste and breaking up the trash.



Jane woke to find herself in a strange bed. Squinting, she opened her eyes to see that she was in a very strange room indeed. The blankets were a grubby assortment. One of which might have been an old carpet. She was lying in a strange, roughly thrown together, four poster bed. It was mad from cheep pallet wood and, instead of plush curtains, had a variety of wind chimes, dolls, broken model planes and paper stars hanging from the improvised rails of the bed. Looking around she noticed that the walls were made of old bits of wood and corrugated iron. Old posters littered the walls in places and an assortment of shelves, laden with a wild assortment of odds, ends and just the plane strange.



As if sensing that his guest had awoken, Ron shuffled into the room with a chipped cup of what he informed her was soup. Jane was still too broken and weary to argue and drank it gratefully. She spent the next few days resting as Ron nursed her back to health. She had time to explore her new surroundings. Ron really was a collector. He had set up home in some woodland, just outside of town. Although he was known to the local authorities, he was generally left alone. He did not cause any trouble and the land owner had not complained. So Ron had made his home a little less transitory than was the norm. Jane found all manner of interesting items in the yard around the lean to house. Old water tanks, various items and bits of machinery that generally littered the area that Ron called home.



Soon, Jane was well enough to return home, after Ron had found her a dress and even a pair of grubby shoes, Jane returned to her life, with the promise that she would return to repay all that Ron had done, as well as buy a few of his items, if he would sell them.