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  • Recovering from what I hope is our last move, has reminded me of the many moves during my younger years, especially trash day. It was the day people all over town, rich and poor, stable and crazy made sure the trash was out, ready to be swallowed up in the privacy of dawn’s dim light. Street after street of blue recyclable bins huddled together with bags of trash, waiting to be picked up like commuters at a bus stop. Just thinking about all those people, strangers to one another, performing the same ritual of getting rid of the waste in their lives, gave me an eerie sense of belonging. Exhausted from the move, I collapsed onto the curb and felt comforted as I rubbed my cheek against the solid, cool steel of the trash can. It seemed to calm the terror twisting through me like a corkscrew. I wondered if I too could be swallowed up in the early morning darkness.
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