Before we begin, let us establish the definition of “neighborhood trash.” Basically, it’s a person, male (what’s that mean anymore, though?) or female, who has somehow managed to stay in Bushwick for two-plus years, still skulking around the same bars and bodegas they did in the beginning, though many of those places have shuttered or turned into something else.
Though the neighborhood trash specimen knows underneath it all that they have made a spectacle of themselves one too many times in this extremely small town, he or she just can’t seem to let go, enmeshed deeply in the detrimental habits that have formed him or her into what he or she is today: pure neighborhood trash.
The Burning Bush managed to finagle one comment out of a longtime trashayshay of the nexus, Erica Appliance, who once possessed the luster of initial ingratiation into domesticity, but now, since being dumped and having to reenter renting a room status, officially embodies what it means to be embarrassing. “It took me a long time to realize that this town was intended to be a revolving door, but somehow I got stuck inside the revolver and can’t get out. But god, how I want to. Please, if you’re reading this and have only lived here for a year, leave now. While you still can.” Yes, Erica is now just one of the increasingly large group of older women ogling younger women’s skin. At least male neighborhood trash has the advantage of a ratio that allows them endless ass no matter how deadbeat they are.
Written by Genna Rivieccio