El Hombre De La Basura Es Mi Amigo

After two days of throwing myself into the much-needed redesign of Broz Design, I ventured outside this morning to greet the garbage man with my trash. I did not set the trash cans out last night because of strong winds that would have knocked the trashcans over and strewn a weeks worth of dead soldiers, junk mail and steak gristle about the common area. That, and the sweet old woman across the alley turns into the garbage Nazi if you leave your trashcans out for more than a day or do not secure the lids to your refuse containers. I like Eleanor and do not wish to get into a fistfight with her so I respect her unwritten rules regarding the trash. The garbage man is a genial Hispanic fellow who speaks broken English and wanted to chat about the unit that burned down.

“See that burnt place over there?”
“Hard to back up garbage truck in there now.”
“Because of all the charred debris and temporary police fence and shit?”

The fact that I am posting this inane drivel only reinforces that fact that I really need a job.

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