Raul Martin IV

The Recovered

The weekly trash service is ten minutes late again. They usually arrive well before I refill the Mr. Coffee to brew a second pot. They used to be punctual. Frank, who lives two houses down, left a washer machine one foot from the middle of the road. They don’t dispose of washer machines. Frank should know that. Their shouting puts Chico on high-alert. He barks as Providence sanitation department’s finest beep on down the road. Johnnie Walker mocks me from above the fridge.