Clarisse had been polishing the plates
It doesn't matter what you call it. Time passes, things change a little bit. The older I got, the simpler I saw things, and the simpler I saw things, the more complicated they got. At my best, I tried not to notice. There were lives of time, streets of time, days of time. I took a job collecting garbage.
The only hard part about the job was the work. We started around 2:30 a.m., just after the bars closed, and went and got coffee, then hit the streets making as much noise as we could. You had to bang your can on the truck and do a lot of yelling to hear each other over all that can banging. You carried your own can into somebody's back yard, dodged the clotheslines, kicked the dog, found the garbage and stuffed about four cans of what somebody thought was well-packed garbage into your own can, that was after you got the cat or rat or possum or whatever mammal you found in there out of the cans and onto the lawn. Then you put your can on your shoulder and squatted under the clothes lines and kicked the dog and yelled back at whoever you woke up while you were doing all that, usually the person who owned the yard, upset you made so much noise while you were back there discovering their fucking garbage.