Arthur trundled down the alley towards the backdoor of his favourite eatery, ‘Rob’s Ribs’. All the best food waste wound up in the big dumpsters there. Joe the manager didn’t mind Arthur beating the dustmen to the trash as long as he didn’t make the alleyway any shittier than it already was.
Arthur’s toothless mouth was salivating at the thought of his morning ribs. He lifted the lid and nearly fainted. There were ribs inside, just a tiny problem. They were still attached to a hobo like himself.
The immediate shock dissipated as Arthur looked closely and noticed that the dead tramp’s rags were superior to his own. Arthur looked up and down the alley to make sure that it was just himself that was frequenting the dirty slip of pathway between the backsides of the buildings.
He climbed on up and dropped inside amongst the trash from the previous night. Standing astride the dead-tramp he began to wonder which would be the best way to disrobe it without actually having to touch any parts of the dead flesh. It wasn’t a new thing to come across one of his own ilk dumped and dead but he figured it was going to be a while, a day or two at least before he’d be willing to eat from this particular dumpster.
Arthur had pretty much relieved the hobo of his raggedy coat when he heard two voices from down the alley. Panic slapped him. He knew what folk would think. They’d jump straight to the conclusion that he’d killed the other tramp for his possessions. He looked down to the coat he had just ‘borrowed’ and paled a little more. Without thinking he lowered the lid to hide with his new pal.
Arthur could smell the sauce-soused ribs, but for once they didn’t make him hungry. All he could think about was the two voices approaching and keeping himself silent until they had gone past and were busily on their way. The voices stopped outside his hidey-hole. Arthur listened whilst wishing that they’d just piss off.
“You’re paranoid Marty.”
“Careful’s the word Jimmy.”
“We even dressed Paulie the Peddler up in hobo clothes, no one's gonna think anything more of it Marty, just another dead down-and-out with a reserved spot up at Potter’s Field.”
“Just wanna make sure. You choked him. Making sure he wasn’t just unconscious, heard about it happening.” He looked about, lifted the lid on the dumpster. He looked inside and saw the rags they had clothed him in to look like a deadbeat. Marty pulled out his knife and stabbed the rags a dozen times.
There were muffled grunts and moans coming from within the dumpster.
Marty stabbed some more,“See Jimmy, he wasn’t so dead after all, you gotta learn to listen to me.”