Buy My Trash | by Marisa Crane

     Welcome to Buy My Trash, where you can instantly connect with other lonely people looking to fill their lives with worthless garbage. If you haven’t had sex in three years, you’ve come to the right place. If you go to diners just to remember what a human looks and sounds like, you’ve come to the right place. Just remember, tread lightly.

                                                                                 FREE XANAX

     If you’re willing to stop by my house and listen to me play two Cardi B songs on my clarinet, then you can have one free Xanax pill. For every additional song you stay for, you may have another Xanax. I won’t give you the address until you sign a document agreeing to the terms (I’ve been duped on here a few times).
     For first time users:
     Once the Xanax kicks in, it will feel as if you’ve wedged your body inside of a giant marshmallow that a lover—if you were to have such a thing—is browning over a campfire, careful not to set aflame. That will feel really nice. Then you will forget that life is meaningless.

                         AN EXPOSÈ ON KEVIN FROM THE BACKSTREET BOYS: $5, negotiable

     Haven’t you ever wondered where Kevin from the Backstreet Boys is now? What kind of wacko shit he’s getting up to? I’ve got all the intel, right here in my Moleskine notebook. I’ll have to rip the pages out for you since I’ve written a few delicious quiche recipes down in the back. Real good stuff. This Kevin guy, he’s gone down a dark path.
     Okay, you’ve wrestled it out of me. Kevin owns four dogs but doesn’t even know their names. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.

                              YOU CAN SQUEEZE MY BLACKHEADS: $10-$20, non-negotiable

     It was my ex-girlfriend’s idea. Erica told me that I should charge strangers to squeeze my blackheads. I have extremely large pores. Like gaping holes. Like you could barely graze my chin and about ten blackheads burst out. It’s an instant gratification addict’s wet dream. She used to gather the goo into a pile on the table or bed or wherever we happened to be at the time. Kind of like a drippy sand castle.
     $10 dollars for just my chin, $20 dollars for both my chin and nose. I will keep my eyes closed the entire time.

                                                                        A STOP SIGN, USED: $3.00

     I’m moving soon so I need to get rid of my favorite stop sign. Erica stole it for me after snorting a fuck ton of ketamine. We slept with it between us, like a pet. The theft was in the local paper. Law enforcement wasn’t too happy since it could cause an accident, so Erica snuck back in the middle of the night and taped a homemade stop sign to the pole.
     I really miss her, but I don’t know how to tell her.
     Before she stole the sign, someone graffitied the word “love” on the bottom of it and I don’t know what to do with that information.

                                           A FREE CD OF SIRI ANSWERING QUESTIONS ABOUT ME

     Super vintage. Pairs well with a bottle of Merlot and a glass of human tears.
     Spoiler alert: She doesn’t know where my underwear are.
     You cannot have this if your name is Erica.

                                                              ONE OF MY CAT’S WHISKERS: $1

     They tickle me in the night. And then I need to take one of your free Xanax in order to fall back to sleep. Then you’ll never get to hear me play “Bodak Yellow” on my clarinet. And I’ve gotta say, I’ve gotten pretty good.

                                 A PURPLE-HAIRED MANNEQUIN: 3 Southwest drink tickets

     Her name is Nastya. You can choose to keep her name, or not. Whatever. She’s highly trainable. Just don’t fuck with her hair color. There’s a lot of history there. She’s a great guard mannequin. She used to scare Erica every time she got up to chug Pepsi in the middle of the night.
     Note: Would accept 2 Southwest drink tickets, if the expiration date is 6 months out or longer. I need to plan a trip first.

                                   PUMPKIN ENZYME FACE MASK: 1 ginger ale or 2 light beers

     Apparently pumpkin enzymes slurp up dead skin like Dementors suck up wizard souls. Just rub that shit all over your face, wash it off with warm water 10 or 15 or 67 minutes later. I used to find bits of pumpkin in Erica’s curls. She’d leave them there for days at a time. It was quite a treat.
     P.S. The drinks are for the parrot. She said she’d stop saying, “I love you, Erica,” if I’d get her some goddamn carbonated beverages. She said it just like that too.

                                                                A SPORK: At least 5 seashells

     It’s a metal spork. None of that cafeteria cutlery. It’s got some weight to it, feels good in the palm. One of those things you’re proud to have in your drawer. You can tell the spork wants the best for you. You can tell the spork has lived a million lives. Every time I open my kitchen drawer it twinkles a little bit, just for me. If you’re lucky, it’ll probably do the same for you. Must send photos of the shells before I agree to an exchange. With a copy of today’s newspaper so I know the shells are legit.

                     I WILL TELL YOU WHAT A SMOG CHECK IS: $1.25, or free if you’re cool

     I’m kinda drunk right now. I just did a bit of research on Google. I’m not from here. Here being California. Where I come from they don’t bother checking your or your car’s smog. You are both free to pollute the earth as much as you’d like. I can give you a human smog reading, if you’d like. It’s important to know these things. The bitter part of me wants to say something snarky about Erica, like, all she does is poison those around her. But I can’t bring myself to believe my own words.
     Can be done over the phone, but I’d prefer in-person so I can see the light go out of your eyes.

                     BLACK & WHITE PHOTOS FROM ANTIQUE STORE: 10 cents per photo

     Erica used to be obsessed with old photographs of strangers. I mean, I guess she probably still is. It’s not like she died or anything. She just left. People do that sometimes. They just leave and you have to fill in the space with half-baked explanations and Charles Manson documentaries. You have to tell yourself that they didn’t leave because they wanted to. They left because they were abducted by an advanced civilization from one thousand years in the future.
     I’ll do twenty photos for a dollar.
     Nobody’s smiling in any of the photographs. This seems worth mentioning.




Marisa Crane is a San Diego-based writer and editor. Her work has appeared in Pigeon Pages, Apeiron Review, Better Than Starbucks, among others. She is the author of the poetry chapbook, “The Devil is a Skilled Ventriloquist”, You can read more of her work at

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