I woke up to the sound of a garbage truck. I admire sanitary engineers. They're in good shape, working hard in heat and cold, in terrible smell, slop and filth. I shook off the chains of sleep, got out of the pulpit of dream and stopped preaching to myself long enough to get dressed and hurry out for fresh air. I saw chicken bones on the grass. Small animals and crows sometimes tear open garbage bags. The flies were having a real feast.
To experience the full power of garbage day, take a walk down the strip of small grocery stores and restaurants. The smell is overpowering. Sometimes bags explode, releasing rotten material on to the street. A bag of fish slop exploded, giving off an amazing smell. Liquid pours from the back of the truck and on to the pavement as the compressor compacts the garbage. This liquid is particularly potent in smell. I laughed as a woman came out of a shop and put a handkerchief over her mouth and nose to block out the smell. I felt the vividness of existence in that moment.
With the spread of microbes and harmful bacteria, it's a good idea to wash the hands whenever it seems like a good idea. I saw the bar of "Le Chat" in a store window. Lohbado washed his hands and then made an attempt to tidy up the messy apartment. Each time he attempted to organize a pile of things, another wave of things would wash the pile back into chaos. Lohbado gave up. He sat down on the floor, with a bar of cat soap. He contemplated the wrapper and imagined a vast, ocean panorama.
Actually, July 1 in Montreal is moving day, when many leases expire and new leases are taken on. People move from one dwelling to another. It turned out to be a bright, sunny day, perfect for firing up the barbecue and laying down those sausages on the grill. Ideally, the sausage should be fried slowly, until drips of oil burst or ooze through the skin, in other words, until the sausage sweats. Be careful, when biting into it, that pork juice doesn't squirt you in the eye.