Recycler

The man with the limp and his wife pulled their car along the curb, left it running, hazards on. Shuffling along he dragged a burlap sack behind him, its contents clinking against the bumps in the road. Flipping the tops up, he bent into the blue bins, digging around the plastic and cardboard, grabbing the glass and aluminum. Passing the material into his sack, the late sun reflected off a tin can and flashed into my eyes.

No. 145