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The Garbage Man
The garbage man is picking up the garbage in front of my house. Bette Miller sings the Star Spangled Banner on a CD I've never played before and the coffee I'm drinking would save me a lot of time later if I just dumped it into the toilet now. The recent drag racing incident where two people lost their lives is the latest example of senseless acts the folk that call Houston home commit. I can't say citizen because the young man still clinging to life faces deportation. Why? I mean, don't we have voluntary plans for this that we recently started paying for with taxpayer money, (whereby breakers of rules decide if they go back) when he regains consciousness, why don't we just ask him. There seems to be a law or a line drawn in American politics every second of the day. The sides are taken in circular motion as we create yet another rule that someone will break. Not saying the man in a coma broke any rules. The garbage truck I told you about has left to pick up on another block, then to another subdivision they go. They too, have rules for collecting garbage that they are supposed to follow.
“Take the trash can with two arms like this, turn it over into the back of the truck like that and be sure not to miss steps one and two especially for Ms. Abercromie's house on the corner there.”
Each day I obey the traffic laws, stopping at this stop sign, waiting for those green lights and signaling to get over for 10 miles before someone on their cell phone is too distracted to block the quarter-inch of air between them and the car in front. Or someone misses their cue to cut me off, and I change lanes with an ease that only exists in Houston .
As I absorb ordinance after god-forsaken ordinance, I can't help but wonder if I could be a garbage man too.
By Seth Batiste