All my friends are bums. We all gather round our camp-fire (in a can) and sing songs of togetherness as we cuddle, to preserve our warmth...

I'm the mom. I cuddle and feed her.

He imagined them sitting somewhere, just enjoying each other's company, her head on his chest, his arm around her. And he realized how desperately lonely he had become.

They don't put their garbage in plastic bags and don't cover their trash cans, so I end up with empty bottles, Christmas wrapping paper in season, and so on, on my lawn.

They all claim they're great bowlers. There's a lot of trash-talking going on in the locker room about who's going to win. We're trying to keep it loose and have a lot of fun.

Good mining is an art of extracting the good things from the rubbles and trashes of life