Our garbage got to the gross stage. Who knows why sometimes your garbage is fine after five days and sometimes it transforms into a garbage-bag-covered-stink-bomb that oozes gelatinous goo and fills your garbage bin with putrid smelling pus? When this happens, it means I need to take the garbage out the back stairs, to the bins. On garbage day, these bins move to the front of the building, which is fine. Normal. Not scary.
Going down the back stairs is dangerous. Some of the iron fire escape stairs are only held on by one bolt. The handle is slimy. The stairs are rickety. You are awkwardly carrying a huge bulging bag of garbage past people's open windows.
So as I walk down, I almost slip twice. The bag is way heavier than normal. I also got it slightly stuck on our hobbit-sized screen door which ripped a couple of attractive holes in it. These attractive holes were dripping goo on my dress, so I started holding the bag further away from my body.
As I get to the last flight, I see that my downstairs neighbours are having a party.
And that's when the garbage bag exploded, to the astonished faces of all the party people in the window. It took me about 15 minutes to pick up all the toxic goo, including a few choice bits which rested on the open windowsill.
I still can't look those neighbours in the eye.