Truth? You want the truth? No, I don't think you do, not really. You do? Are you sure? Cos if you're sure, I'll tell you. I don't mind being frank about it. Fine. You really want to know what I think? Well, I don't like it. There I said it. I don't like you. I don't like my role in your life. I hate what you've reduced me to. Everyday you throw your rubbish at me, expecting me to be able to deal with it all, as if that's all I am to you. I can't take it anymore; I'm tired of always being there for you. When have you ever been there for me? You leave me out in the cold, the wind, the rain of my life. You open and shut my mouth as if I'm a puppet in your little show. You never invite me in, and you never give me the best of what you have... not until it's the worst. Every week you leave me in the hands of strangers, people who disrespect me, people who throw me around and leave me battered and tired in the early hours of the morning. I can't do it anymore. Even with the lemon-perfumed bin bags you've started using, it just isn't worth it. I quit. Find yourself a new wheelie bin.