Garbage day is a big event here on Fremont Avenue. The truck comes early and the line of matching bins hastily parked along the curb are numerous.
This past Thursday was particularly windy. When I came home for a quick lunch, the yard was full of random containers I assumed belonged to us. Zombie-like, I roamed the lawn plucking each piece from the dead grass.
Hippie brand cracker box. Check. Coors Light box. Check. Betty Crocker cake mix box? Baby formula box? Durex condom wrapper? I realized that our yard—on the northern end of the southern gusts—had accumulated the stray trash of at least three or four houses further down the block.
In one hand, I held the Betty Crocker container and considered Cristi’s illustrious career as a pastry cook. In the other, I held the Durex condom package and the empty baby formula container and laughed at the irony of finding the two at the same time.
Glad to know people here on Fremont are baking cakes and getting laid, I put the recyclables in the green bin and the trash in the blue. Thinking to myself, I smiled. The cycle of life continues and there’s nothing like garbage to prove it.