Trash Can and Mail Box

“Why are you here when you could be anywhere?” Mailbox finally said to Trash Can. Mailbox saw things come and go six days a week, most weeks, since he had been here, but his feet were screwed into Sidewalk. He’d never been anywhere else besides here and the back of Truck, but Trash Can had a very cosmopolitan air about him. His paint was worn around his rim; his sides plastered with peeling stickers. He even smelled well-traveled. He’d been here much longer than Mailbox, and people walking by often stopped like they knew him, filling him with different sorts of gifts.

“I am everywhere,” Trash Can replied.

“But I’ve never seen you move,” said Mail Box with suspicion.

“But you are everywhere too!” Trash Can replied.

A dog walker passed. Two human legs and twenty three dog paws passed (one dog only had three legs, but walked like it was in vogue among dogs, and it was).

Like usual, the dog walker had nothing for Mail Box, not even Hi or Hello.

He had three little bags, warm and soft, and gave all of them to Trash Can.

Trash Can collected all sorts of things, bags of all sizes and fragrant papers and half sandwiches. Mail box received nothing but rectangles of paper. This had never seemed fair, but until now Mail Box hadn’t said toot. Now, he was a little angry.

“But I’m here! How can I be everywhere?” Mail Box demanded.

“Look across the street,” said Trash Can, smirking.

Mail Box had always only looked one way, towards the people who walked by and past them to the Pie Shop, which must be a euphemism for Pie Hospice, because a smaller sign read “Where pies come to die.”

With effort Mail Box slowly turned his attention sideways. Behind him was a road! The source of erratic noise and rumbling was revealed: Truck and Car and Bike were passing all the time. And Bus! and Garbage Truck! and Dump Truck! The world was more diverse than Mail Box ever imagined.

Across the asphalt's white and yellow stripes was what Trash Can first thought was a mirror. Another sidewalk with its own dogs and dog walkers, and, there it was: Trash Can. The same proud cylinder in green. The same slew of stickers, rearranged. Trash Can was two places at once. Trash can was everywhere.

Mail Box felt very small. He clattered his blue metal mouth.

“Keep looking!” Trash Can said, satisfied.

Mail Box turned his attention again. Across from Trash Can’s twin was his triplet, on a corner just like theirs. The sidewalk was dappled in the sun just like theirs, with strollers passing by just like theirs, a black pole just like theirs. Mail Box’s world had just tripled in size and he feared that if there were three there were more. Before looking across the street he'd been unable to imagine others like Trash Can, others like him. Now he wondered.

A little boy walked past and chucked a super sized soda into Trash Can and it ricocheted, spilling down Trash Can and even splashing Mail Box.

"Awwwwwwesome," said the little boy.

Trash Can, like he'd read Mail Box's mind, interrupted his thoughts.

“Look man, I know you can’t move but believe me, I’ve seen others like you. Not here on this street but not far from here there’s a corner like ours with the dogs and bikes and cracks in the sidewalk, and you are there too, just as blue, with four legs and a large metal mouth.”

Mail Box believed him. Trash Can never lied. 

Mail Box thought about what this meant. To be here and there. To be everywhere. Suddenly, Mail Box felt something he'd never felt before. He felt small and huge at once, and a part of something beyond his corner. He thought, this is what it means to be a Trash Can.