The hole

I took a walk in the moonlight to drop the things that shamed me into the hole. It was a good hole, deep and dark with a steep, sharp edge. We all used it, and all let each other pretend we didn't. As I walked home the moon went in and a steady rain fell, and things began to float past me in the gutter: a letter, a bottle, a photograph. We would clean it up in the morning without exchanging even a glance. We never needed the hole at all.