/lit/ - Literature

>And besides, the dame had legs to next tuesday, which reminded me that it was trash night. Every night that ended in "y" was trash night in this city, and I was the trashman. The fourth-hand caddy was my truck, the trenchcoat and hat were my uniform, and the morgue was my dump. The nasty smell would never come out, but I figured maybe the dime-store perfume wafting off this broad could take the edge off til morning. "Got a match?" she gagged.