Down the local tip today, dumping rubbish from the studios. Stuff I can't sell or give away, like floor sweepings, smashed plastic crates, and rotted wood.
I'm carting it around when one of staff - someone I can't see despite the flourescent orange - bellows across the bins. Oi! You! His voice soars over the domestic appliance skip, lifts above the Christmas trees, and bounces off the stinking carpet. If you put cardboard in the metal bin again I'll slash your tyres! The figure heading to the metal bin freezes before changing course, due south.
How I live for moments like this.
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