Mimosa Echard. Conversation with Trash, 2016
InBOiL came out to greet us. His clothes were all wrinkled and dirty and so was he. He looked like a mess and he was drunk. “Hello,” he said. “Down here again, huh?” he said, more to Margaret than to me, though he looked at me when he said it. That’s the kind of person inBOIL is. “Just visiting,” I said. He laughed at that. A couple of other guys came out of shacks and stared at us. They all looked like insoa. They had made the same mess out of themselves by being evil and drinking that whiskey made from forgotten things. One of them, a yellow-haired one, sat down on a pile of disgusting objects and just stared at us like he was an animal. “Good afternoon, inBoiL,’ Margaret said. "Same to you, pretty.” Some of inBOIL’s trash laughed at that and I looked at them hard and they shut up. One of them wiped his hand across his mouth and went inside his shack. “Just being social,” inBOIL said. “Don’t take no offense.” “We’re just down here to look at the Forgotten Works,” I said. “Well, she’s all yours,” inBOIL said, pointing at the Forgotten Works that gradually towered above us until the big piles of forgotten things were mountains that went on for at least a million miles.
Richard Brautigan, A Conversation with Trash, in In Watermelon Sugar, 1968
