Any place you stay in New Orleans you can hear the trains. I can hear the whistle right now as I write this. These tracks are down by the Green Project. Royce says “I need some newspaper.” He’s doing some project in the back yard that requires copious amounts. Patrick and I stand by the tracks as he jumps into the recycle bin. He’s hip deep, and he is not a short man. Bending down, he chucks newspaper block after block out of the bin. “Recycle, reuse,” he says. I’ve mentioned before that door step recycling is a luxury in this city. You have to pay someone to come collect it. Or you can drive it to places like the Green Project. A lady drives up to dump her newspapers. Had she arrived 15 minutes before, Royce could have avoided the dumpster dive. “Good exercise,” he says as he hauls his ass over the side of the bin.
