Charles has started a new job driving a trash truck in Los Angeles. On his route, he finds valuable items people have thrown away that he uses to furnish his apartment. He receives an unexpected phone call from a man named Sal who is involved in criminal activity, offering Charles money in exchange for looking the other way if he sees anything on his route. Later, Charles and his co-worker Tom witness a man assault and threaten a teenager with a gun. Unsure of what to do, Charles calls his ex-girlfriend Leslie for advice on how to handle the dangerous situation he finds himself in.

1. Charles was overjoyed, and felt completely out of place being so. It was his
second week on the refuse waste job he had landed driving trash trucks, and all couldn't
be smoother. He was adopting to city life in the "City of Angels", and he was even
hopeful to save enough to buy the fair condo he was living in. The place was filling up
very quickly with all of the valuable junk he found every day while doing his dirty deeds.
People threw away the damndest of things. Stereo's, televisions, computers,
antique furniture, artwork, hell this was going to make his new pad "pimped out" in a
very big way. Now if he could get over all his co-workers "whats upchuck?" jokes since
he threw up the first morning when his route "can man" Tom Toms, brought a dead cat
into the cab.
He and Tom were on the route, in the midst of the urban downtown jungle that
was Los Angeles. They were riding down a long stretch of alley with no cans or
dumpsters to hit when Tom spoke up.
"I will never forget the look on your face..." Tom began.
""Enough cat gut bragging! And no more what's upchuck jokes!" Charles
interceded loudly, yelling over the hum of the engine of the truck.
"You know I got no easy namesake here Chuckaroo..." Tom started again.
"Your playing?! Tom Toms is it man, go with the flow. Everything has a rhythm!"
"Very funny. My ex, she called me Tom cat cause I'm always playing jokes. So I
hope you'll forgive me for my Peter Pan ways. If ye but come as a child..." Tom plainly
stated in all seriousness.
"If I came as a child, I'm gonna wring your neck next time you pull something
like that!" Chuck quipped, pulling up to a mechanical arm friendly dumpster and
lowering the trucks lift, giving it a "go ahead".
Just as the dumpster was being swung to the side of the truck by the lifts arms, a
man with jet black pulled back hair, and an all black silk suit and a briefcase cuffed to his
arm walked into the path of the receptacle. He stopped, annoyed at the inconvenience,
turned and held up the briefcase, waving at Tom and Chuck. Just as they were about to
wave back, the man lifted his other hand, and gave them the middle finger. Once again,
Mr. Toms broke the silence with a drumming on the dash.
"That was beat. Like to beat it, cause that guy gave me the creeps. Like a beat-
down head. Made me turn beet- red."
"Enough beats Mr. Toms, enough! Beating a dead horse!" Charles shot back at the
traditionally placed left side passenger seat at Tom.

2. "I like dead things!" Tom sighed like a four year old..
"Well I am dead, and beat, so let's move outta the dead beats way instead of
beating him dead!"
"I see what you mean. The horse thing. The department of redundancy
department." Tom finalized the plan with a wave of his hand, and returned conjecture.
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Later that evening at Charles newly christened downtown condo, he sat down at
the new teak desk he had salvaged from it's ruined above - back shelving spaces. He had
simply sawed them off, sanded, and it left the piece looking very classy. He was a little
homesick for his freshly abandoned hometown of small town simple way symbolic
freedom of space and super "ground hogs day" synchronicities back in Iowa. It was time
to write a more qualified explanation to his ex, Leslie, whom he had left at the same time
as leaving.
The best parallel he could find was to tell her of the one corner on his route he had
been noticing. Especially this morning when he stopped, did it catch his attention, or,
should he have said "they" caught his attention.
"My dear, it was just that I was in a space that those around me did not take but a
most basic and singularly foul attitude on everything. I saw some guys like that this
morning, outside of a private club on my route. Standing around, feeding seagulls Alka
Seltzer tablets to watch them puff up and die, and spilling up their turf to watch owners
over with in their return for protection. Nothing about that life, or the life I left behind
there appeals to me as my true path. Atleast here, I earn an honest living with no strings
attached. Small town politics is a silent, but deadly killer."
He ended with a quote from one of their mutual favorite movies. The he sprayed a
hint of his cologne on the eight pound paper, and left his mark. Sealing it into a business
envelope and pushing a hundred dollar bill into its enclosure, he sealed, stamped, and
addressed the letter using a felt tip calligraphy pen and making broad sweeping strokes.
Just then, the phone rang. Charles still was unaccustomed to his new phone's ring.
It was an antique earpiece and microphone wall mount with a crank and everything, and
he knew he could fetch a pretty penny for it at the pawn if he should ever get in a pinch.

3. "What's up Chuck?!",
"Yes, hello, this Charles!"
The caller had an indiscernable low, raspy almost mumbling tone to his voice
almost as if he had one hand over the phone. He interrupted Charles.
"Listen carefully. I have business on your route. It is no ones business. Don't get
stiff, if you see a stiff, because you're going to get a stiff reward. I'm Sal, they call me
"the Sicilian" or something..."
The caller hung up in midsentence.
The following day at around noon, Charles and Tom pulled the truck over for Tom
to run into a local legend deli for a roast beef and provolone sauce smothered select
"master" sandwich as Tom called them. It was near the area where the private club was
Chuck had observed the day prior in his letter to Leslie. As he stared off into the distance
down the street through the truck windshield, he saw a man of huge stature heading
directly for him.
"Sal?!" Charles asked himself aloud.
A moment later, the man approached Charles curbside window and stood by the
truck. He appeared very concerned, and wasted no time in introductions.
"I called you last night. Sal. You know. You see anything today, say ten blocks
North, you keep a lid on it."
The two hundred and fifty pound man in the pin striped, well tailored suit pulled
out two envelopes from within his inner jackets enclosure.
"These are for you and your partner."
Charles mind raced as he tried to find some convincing, viable explanation to this
man who obviously wasn't used to taking "no" for an answer, as to why he could not
accept. But it was too late. Sal, "The Sicilian" had no more handed him the envelopes
when he turned to the side and wave with the back of his hand, "goodbye".
Hands shaking, Charles opened the thicker of the two envelopes. Contained
within was two thousend dollars mostly in hundreds. The money was old money, dirty
money, money that could make him. In several different ways.
When Tom returned, he swung the truck around to the front of the private club he
had observed, guessing this was the most appropriate place to give Tom his envelope.
Tom turned ash white, and put the envelope in his back pocket without opening it. Just

4. then, immediately after Chuck's explanation, the door to the club opened, revealing it's
winding dimly lit corridor that greeted its visitors with a prohibition - era looking
speakeasy lobby. Out came the man they had seen the day before, with the briefcase, who
had given them the finger. He briefly took notice of the two in the truck, and held up his
thumb and his forefinger, like a gun. He pulled the trigger, and smiled, seeming very
amused by himself as he addled down the street.
Chalres and Tom watched in the side view mirrors as the man, passing by a young
kid of only fourteen or so, turned and smacked the kid in the face. When the kid started to
yell, he hit him with fists, and then finally, as the youth lay on the ground, he kicked him
in the ribs a few times. In broad daylight, for no apparent reason, and with no further
concern, the man pulled out a Berretta and aimed it in the young man's face. After a
moment of loud spoken words, he returned the present moment to its place. He put the
gun in it's holster and walked away.
Charles turned to Tom and said the only thing he could think of, "What a whack!"
Tom turned blue, and threw up out of the window.
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That night, Charles pulled one of his five other junk phones out of the closet, and
curled up on the couch to talk to Leslie about all of this. After trying three different
headsets, they finally found the one that allowed them both to hear each other. When she
answered the phone in that soft country style, he almost didn't know what to say and hung
up. But he didn't.
"I think I'm in trouble, Lez..." he began nervously.
"What else is new?!" she mimicked in a very casual manner."
"I need the advice of a very reasonable cold hearted bitch."
"That's what I'm here for."
Charles related the events, about the payoff and the sinister man, the supposed
stiff and about "Sal the Sicilian". When he was done, he felt no better having shared it
with someone, though because of her distance did not have to fear for her.
"Leslie Trident has seen better things for you, Charlie. You know Charlie, you
gotta stop brown nosing! Call you Charlie brown. Definite blockhead." she replied to his
emotional dump after a few respectful moments of silence.

5. Charles thought carefully for a minute. Then he said, "Plainly put, which will
stand the test of time? Only time itself."
"Ooh! Ahh! Zen!" she squealed.
"Ahh zen indeed," Charles agreed.

6. Charles thought carefully for a minute. Then he said, "Plainly put, which will
stand the test of time? Only time itself."
"Ooh! Ahh! Zen!" she squealed.
"Ahh zen indeed," Charles agreed.