Under a moon-less night, illuminated by one under-achieving street lamp, the net of the basketball hoop shone like a neon pink sign.
Hello and welcome, all who venture into this four-sided rectangular space.
The man with the bag of discarded fish heads pushed upon the gate surrounded the basketball court. His eyes darted around, searching for surveillance cameras, other night-dwellers, and general signs that he should take his burden elsewhere. But, he was alone, so he sat down on one of the moss-covered benches just outside of the street lamp’s light. The bag hit the ground faster than his thighs reached the bench.
He wished he could throw it in the river or in a dumpster or anywhere that would swallow it up and let him forget he was being paid the price of a princess’s frivolous weekend to relocate a dozen fish heads. Salmon, trout, sword, shark — he didn’t know and didn’t care. He’d hauled worse smelling and heavier things before, but something about this particular delivery made him feel unexpectedly uneasy.
The man looked up at the basketball net and wondered what would be the worst that could happen if he hoisted the bag into the hoop. He knew it wouldn’t fall through. Was it worth it, though? To risk being seen or leaving innocent day-dwellers to deal with a sack of steadily putrefying scales, eyes, and teeth. The man remained on that bench and considered his illusory options. He didn’t really have but one, which was to continue through the city until cement gave way to dirt and chuck the bag into a well. He made a mental note to be more discerning with his next assignment. No more transporting materials that can decompose and emit unpleasant aromas.
~!~
I have no idea what inspired this piece of writing… the mental image of an outdoor basketball court at night and a bag of fisheads manifested, and out came the rest of the words.