Written by L.B. Sedlacek – From the list of dos and don’ts of a garbage collector: Watch everything at all times.
Predawn. Friday. Somewhere in a crumbling alley. My overalls were covered in tomato juice. My hands with cocktails and rainwater. I wiped them on my shirt. I smelled. I always smelled from four a.m. to noon.
“Mack. Focus!”
I stared at the wiry man across from me. He hung from the back of the truck with one hand. “You’re the one dangling.”
I looked in the side mirror. My hair was matted against my forehead. Sweat dripped past my ears.
“I’m focused. C’mon. Stop thinking about it. It isn’t worth it. How much time do you have? Just a few months and you’ll have enough saved for your down payment. Don’t blow it.”
I slipped orange leather gloves on my hands. “Jase. You worry too much.” I turned to the alley. We came up on a row of green super cans behind a large white apartment building. I had memorized the address. The Congressional Apartments were home to prominent congressmen and judges. It was five blocks from the Capitol. Three to the Supreme Court.
“You’re unreal man.” Jase jumped to some boxes beside the cans. He hoisted each one up, tossing it to me with ease. The boxes were heavy, each causing my knees to buckle.
“You’re the one who’s always telling me it’s amazing what folks throw away. Books. Shoes. Underwear. Desks. Remember when you found that radio? It was new.”
“Sure. Beats finding pool chemicals, or hypodermic needles. I hate that.”
Jase blew a puff of smoke in my face, smiled and chewed his cigarette. I looked at the fire escape. Three super cans were lined up underneath. I scanned the apartment building from the roof to the alley. The sun crept past the clouds. I sniffed the back of the truck. Today’s odor was pesto sauce mixed with dirty diapers. “Man. It’s almost 9 o’clock and this truck’s still a shaker.”
“We got at least three hours. That’s why the truck’s only half full. Get with it. You don’t want to be a thrower forever, do ya?”
I shrugged my shoulders heading for the cans. The alley was too small for the driver to use the blade injector to scoop them up so we had to toss them by hand. I headed for the middle one. It belonged to Howell Dunn, a Supreme Court judge. I dragged the can to the truck and threw in the contents. I thought I heard Jase muttering “don’t do it” under his breath. I shoved the can against the building taping a white envelope to the back of the can. It was addressed to the judge. I jumped on the truck and leaned into the wind as we started moving forward.
“It’s never gonna work.”
I shook my head. “He’ll want it back. I know it.”
“But he’ll know it’s someone from the sanitation department. He can check who tosses this route. He’ll find you.”
“No way. Too obvious. They’ll look for someone else, anyone (else) except someone dripping in garbage juice making sixteen bucks an hour.”
“I hope you’re right, man. Put you on easy street.”
I shook my head. “Nah. Enough for a half payment. Halfway to where I want to be.”
“Anywhere but sniffing garbage on the back of a truck?”
“You got it.”
Jase smiled and clung to the truck. I smiled too glancing at the apartment building out of the corner of my eye.
BIO: LB Sedlacek’s short fiction has appeared in such publications as “Duct Tape Press,” “The Tea Weekly,” “storiesthatlift.com,” “Monarch Mysteries,” and others. LB’s poetry has appeared in “Main Street Rag,” “Mastodon Dentist,” “Big Pulp,” “Pure Francis,” and “Third Wednesday.” LB publishes a free resource for poets, “The Poetry Market Ezine.”
