A Broken Blue Plastic Milk Crate Left by the Communal Bins

Dear Delyara, Someone had abandoned an old, cracked milk crate by the big metal wheelie bins tonight, its corner completely shattered where a heavy vehicle must have reversed over it. In the dim light of the security lamp, it looked completely pathetic—just a cheap piece of industrial plastic that had outlived its usefulness to the dairy company. But looking at its grid structure, I remembered using those exact crates as makeshift chairs in my first student flat, turning them upside down to hold a piece of plywood for a table. We build our early lives out of other people’s rubbish, constructing a sense of independence out of things that were never meant to be beautiful. I gave it a small tap with my boot as I walked past, a silent thank you to a shape that kept me off the floor when I had nothing else.