The rubbish then drifted down the street, followed by Olius who dragged his feet. And on his trudge who should he meet? None other than Jack and Gracie so sweet, having an argument, building in heat:

“All this rubbish about a rubbish bin!”

“If I hadn’t of started, you would never begin! And here we argue about things out of the bin, while insisting significance in there being nothing within.”

“Significance in the bin? Then there’s something within! Significance is in our once empty bin.”

“But now, would you say, it is a significance bin?”

“Hardly so. Still a wheelie bin. A wheeled bin of significance, that’s all that’s within.”

With a raise on an eyebrow and shake of his head, Olius continued, destination: his bed. Things were becoming confusing, so much had been said, a trip to his bed might clear his head. If only that were true…

What Olius found in his head in his bed, was not coherent but befuddled instead, something about cats, vacuums and bread. All were poured into a bin when dead, a wheeled bin now full of rubbish, as previously stated.

“But cats are not rubbish! I treat them like kin! Never shall they be emptied into a rubbish bin!”

“Oh, but Jack!, in the case of your cats being wheelie-binned, there’s a change of name on account of what is within!”

“So you’re saying it depends on what is within?”

“Yes! So now you’ve got yourself a wheeled cat bin!”

“So my cats have wheels?”

“No! The cat’s are within the previously wheeled bin.”

“I think I’m confused as Olius, then.”

The End

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