'Pick-up' by Tim Love

"You do realise," I said, when I saw her on my way back from my shift at the soup kitchen, "that by picking that litter up you're actually putting someone out of a job."

"I'm an artist. Look," she said, fiddling with her mobile. She showed me a photo of a gallery wall - big Olympic rings stuffed with junk. "Rubbish from five continents. I called it Pentatrash."

Since then I've been collecting from Station Road, Honeydew Court, Market Square, Commercial Road and the Rec. I've emptied my bookcase, lined the litter along its shelves to see if she can guess which social class is which. I’ll show her that you don't need elitist travel grants to make a statement. I walk the streets for hours a day collecting rubbish as I go, hoping to bump into her again.