I wasn’t always vengeant against the trash pickers. she was a yoda of a woman, samopan hat, falling into each step atop her cart full of cans and bottles.
she got forced out. the Can Van Man. he appeared and sampan yoda where did she go?
dark with teeth like a skarmy. our condo folks whatever you call them is there a term whatever got in spats. he peed by our barrels. there was shouting.
and so I was fuck him. and then i’m like i’ll make this hard for him. I put my trash barrels on the corner of the driveway and the sidewalk. easy access for the trucks and their carnival claws.
the recycling bins, blue, I set the precedent to put the in the middle of the sidewalk block, where parents dropping off or maybe teachers or JUST PEOPLE would be parked and thus block Can Van Man (CVM) and while he will persevere it makes shit hard for that asshole.
my navajo neighbor Brian likes him.
trash pickers–Can Van Man, CVM, I think his name may legit by bob–grab the deposit (5 cents where is the cents symbol) that could otherwise be yours (BUT they will never be yours, you put them in recycling rather than to Trader Joes)… and people fuck up what is recyclable or not… god i’m tired.
trash pickers sort. they ensure that true recyclables are truly recycled. and the stream is not gummed up by bad shit. they have a good purpose and they can strive to survive off the deposit you never would have caught anyway.