Pillow Talk

 

One of the first things visitors notice about New York is the enormous, towering piles of garbage. While there is a bit of topographical intrigue in the Bronx and Manhattan, the real mountains are not found in the schist jutting out from Central Park, but on every sidewalk. The trouble with the city’s garbage system is that the use of black bags prevents gawking, ogling, and examining. It’s hard to know what to make of your neighbors without knowing first what they willingly kick to the curb. 

The sad truth about refuse that many refuse to believe, is not every piece is the same. Among the heaps exist strata of trash. What disgusts us, what horrifies us upon sight, sound, and smell is not what some typically expect. Except for the weathered sanitation worker, most people are grossed out by prodigious bags of rotting meat, produce, or pet excrement smeared along the gutter. To me, this is all standard, honestly boring material. Who doesn’t gather up kitty litter and moldy plums for a one-way ticket to the dump?  

Last night though, I saw something that stopped me cold. Three pillows on the ground, laid out neatly, and worst of all, showing no visible signs of grime. We know why people get rid of mattresses and bed frames. But pillows? Some of us accumulate pillows for a lifetime, slowly building up a fortress of comfort without limits. They help us think and sleep. They are used to let off steam and engage in pugilistic acts with siblings. Pillows are there to help us work through issues. And pillow cases have none of the problems associated with large financial institutions. So seeing three tossed off was a harrowing image, forcing me to reconsider the state of the city. I can handle needles and crack pipes. Same with firearms. But pillows? What kind of monster does this. I’ll take a bag of raw sewage any day over a good as new down pillow on the ground.