The Thursday Morning Bin Collection

The rhythmic rumble of the rubbish trucks was Michael’s Thursday morning orchestra. It began faintly in the distance, a low growl that climbed in intensity as it devoured the street, leaving in its wake echoes of clinking bottles, crashing cans, and metallic shudders.

For nearly seventy-five years, life’s chapters had been bookmarked by grand events – births, travels, love, loss. Yet, here and now, the humble bin collection revealed itself as a subtle timekeeper, a heartbeat in the calendar of existence.

Each Thursday, the trucks brought not just the removal of waste but also a moment of reflection. “Another week gone,” Michael would think, watching the red, green, and yellow-topped receptacles go up, then down again, as the trucks did what they must do. Another week of memories – some delightful, others bittersweet – tucked away like the rubbish in the bins, neatly sorted and ready to move on.

If he were fortunate enough to live another 10 years, Michael calculated, there would be 780 more bin collections. And, if luck blessed him further with 15 more years, it would rise to 1,170 – a staggering number of clinking bottles and rattling bins. With every collection, the bins whispered the same quiet promise: life goes on.

But Michael’s gaze would linger. After the trucks had passed, he remained, sipping his tea, smiling at the absurdity of it all: a life ruled by bins. “Not too bad, really”, he mused. For with each crash, clang, and rumble, the bins marked not just what was left behind but the precious time that lay ahead.

* By Michael Barker with special thanks to Shippo, his AI companion, for sprinkling a little digital magic along the way!