Pondering my timid trash habit

   It was a Monday. This meant one of two things.Either I was taking out the trash,or I was taking out both the trash and recycling.Of course to average suburban monkey raised to do this from birth it goes without saying. I however was not raised to do this and to me it seems like walking on the moon.
   I am never, (no not ever) ready for this ritual.I don't put it out at night because the man I have come to know as "Mad Max" will pull up with his truck of scrap metal looking like he's about to ring a bell in some tower,face always smired with some dark forign substance like he's been lubricating giant gears all day just waiting to pick out select morsels of money rich base metal and cart it off to the base to melt down into (a )mare of that greese of (b) more gears.
   He's a hardned servivor and with his honed senses he can always seem to tell when the fat guy across the street is watching him.The old tub will just crack his shutters enough to show a diabetic eye and ol Max will wheel around and give him the "Th' fuck you lookin at this is MINE now civilian" death stare. This never fails to make tub recoil back into his nebby castle o whatsit.
   I've seen it play out too maney times and gottin the same look. Like a hyena ready to fight off a lion,as if people have seen this road warrior looming over there particulars and suddenly changed their minds. Argueing with him about the old metal sink,bike frame,of copper scrap.Saddly knowing the calliber of people in this town it would not supprise me at all.
   Me I respect this relec from a bygone era when people got all the use out of thier shit before casting it into the "not my problem" . I dont keep him guessing .If I got metal I put that out at night and every time without fail,and not having to search through my other shit he takes it.
   However there I am with the enevitable next morning trash hangover sitting just inside the garage door.Max didn't shake every bag checking for metals and the racoon familly didn't molest out the toquito plates form two days ago to eat at the cheese solidified on the paper making some soft of racoon super drug I refer to as "cessogronde" I am under the impression that this perticual familly of raccon imigrated form mexico because they ONLY or for the cesso grande if the right amount of franks red hot is on it.This both makes me seem racist and warms my heart that just mabey a little bit of california has fallowed me to this barren waistland known for zombies both reserected and on crack.