I ordered two number two paintbrushes to P. O. Box 926. They arrived in a large cardboard box, too big to fit in the mail slot. I carried the box home under one arm. On the floor of my studio it measured 18 in x 12 in x 6 in. Peeling off the tape and opening the flaps of the box yielded a plastic caterpillar, folded upon itself, for padding. I reached for it to remove it and locate the paintbrushes at the bottom of the box.
But the caterpillar jerked away from me, pulling itself into the air in great thrusts. I fell back from the force and it hovered in the air. Then, springing from the room, it worked its way towards the exit double doors. Following swiftly I opened the door for it to pass through.
As it danced in the air, I pondered this new plastic animal, expanding into the greater blue. With no head, it moved forward using many of its thoraxes and abdomens, sometimes all at once. Confined by its nutritious gassy innards, it would have limited altitudes to climb and sail through, until, deflated it lay to rest a flat shed.
In the time before trash, I would not have believed plastic life possible. It is amazing, the life of waste.