The garbage collectors come to my neighborhod on Thursday morning, about 8:00 a.m.
Over the mad clatter and the banging and shaking of cans, the driver and the helper are continuously shouting obscenities at the top of their lungs.
I can't tell if they're shouting at one another, or if they're shouting at God.
They take a long time to get through the alley, and last Thursday I was trying to concentrate on an article and at one point leapt to my feet and ran to the back door to yell at them to keep it down.
But before I opened my mouth, I saw the error of my thinking.
Garbagemen should shout obscenities at the top of their lungs all day, and it's only my good fortune to have a couple of garbagemen early in their route, with the spirit and the pipes to properly express their feelings about their work.