There was once a slice of white bread, with a little smattering of blue-green mould in one corner. He had been tossed in the bin with some eggshells, wrappers, and the contents of an ashtray, but fell through a slit in the cheap bin-liner when the man took the bin out of the domestic bin to put it in the rugged outdoor bin, where on an allocated day of the week it would be taken with the contents of the bins of the rest of the world, to go to a hole in the moon where some of it would break down and some of it would remain for millennia. It was here, in the outside world, that the little slice of white bread really learned how cruel the world could be. First the sun beat down and made him dry, but he discovered the shade provided by the shed before he was toast. He was giddy at the near miss, but concerned about the health implications this sunning might have had. Then it started to rain. He all too quickly learned that shade did not protect from the rain, and watched in horror as his body was disintegrated by the rain, and carried away from him, as his regression into white amorphous sludge went on under the rain’s jurisdiction.