Could be used in one of two ways,

  1. to refer to the common action of removing the trash or refuse from one's home,
  2. removing a bothersome or offensive person or object from a place,
c.f. taking out the trash.

     "Come on," I hissed.

     Maria was lagging behind, and I stopped beside the washing machine to wait as she made her way down the hall, dragging both her feet and the bulging garbage bags she carried in either hand. She didn't seem one hundred percent behind my idea. I had to distract her, or she might call off the whole operation.

     "Remember last night, when I dared you to pour your wine into the washer?"

     She nodded and, having caught up, came to a halt beside me. In unison, we looked down into the open belly of the machine.

     "Did you?" I asked.

     She paused, clearly giving the matter some thought.

     "No," she said finally. "I drank it."

     "Oh." There was no evidence in the washer to support or deny her claim, but I for one believed her. There had been at least two inches of wine left in that glass, and no friend of mine would feed that much perfectly good booze to a mindless machine.

     She opened her mouth again, probably to voice some objection to my scheme, but I forestalled her.

     "Let's go." I picked up my burden again, the plastic handles digging cruelly into my palms. "When we're done, you can have a cigarette out on the roof."

     "Ew," she said. "I don't want a cigarette."

     "Well, I do. Come on."

     "Fine, fine," she said impatiently. "Let's get this show on the road."

     "That's the spirit."

     Together, under the cover of darkness, we crept onto the roof and across it until we were kneeling side by side at the edge, ducked down under the power lines.

     "Don't touch them!" I winced as Maria's head passed within inches of one of the dangling black cables.

     She stared at me. "Why not? They're insulated, you know." She made as if to touch one, and I had to look away. Power lines scare the shit out of me.

     "Well, are we going to do this or not?" Having shed her reservations, Maria was ready for action now, and looking to me to demonstrate my inspired idea.

     "Alright, alright. Just watch." I picked up one of the heavy garbage bags by the handles and dangled it out over the edge of the roof. Just far enough. I glanced at Maria to make sure she was watching and not playing with the power lines.

     "Hurry up," she ordered, the gleam in her eyes suggesting she'd figured out the plan and was eager to take her turn.

     I let go of the handles, and we both leaned over the edge to watch with deep, smiling satisfaction as the garbage plummeted into the waiting dumpster in the parking lot below.

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