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Showing posts from June, 2020

Cul-de-Sac de Dump

The folks at the dump hate my guts. That's okay, I'm used to it. I don't care one way or the other about them and I think this shines through my fragile, porcelain exterior.  They, like so many before them, sense my absence of a.) loyalty to their tenets, and b.) deep respect for the importance of their line of work. While a.) is true, b.) is not necessarily true. It is a nuanced respect. Nuance is difficult to get across in the brief episodes which find us, the dump workers and me, at loggerheads. Now normally, in a sane town, the folks at the dump, like, the workers, would hide in a low shed, sweating, eating corn chips and watching soccer games - diverted only every whistle-blow by online gambling. But our town has no budget for such a low shed. Indeed not even for the corn chips. So the dump workers are forced to either stand guard at the cul-de-sac of sorting bins or else hide in the trees around the perimeter sucking on German tree sap and posting sticky-fingered