Garbage Trucks. You either love ‘em or hate ‘em.  That’s what my pa always used to say.  “Son, you either love Garbage Trucks or you hate them.”  Then he would point to my mother and squeeze his nose shut and wave his hand in front of it, mouthing the words “P.U.!”  Needless to say I felt uncomfortable.  But I feel like I learned something every time, and I would tip the cool rocks glass filled with artificial lemonade to my lips, take a long swig and look directly into the sun, permanently damaging my corneas.  The wind would blow, and so would I, and the humidity reminded me of moisture in the air.  It was a strange time, and one that never happened to me.  But it probably didn’t happen to someone else, either.

-Z 

03/10/2006
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