The alarm clock

When I escape to the snore room, my window is right on the street. I don't need an alarm.

The tweet of the garbage truck announces morning is coming around 5 a.m. give or take. It is a pretty sound much like the birds that go off at dawn as well.

The motor noises of the truck mixes with the garbage men's conversation and the picking up and the slamming down of the required containers. Yellow for paper, cans, plastic, brown for garbage-garbage. They alternate pick up days, but I can never remember which one is which.

There is that moment of pure joy after the garbage alarm goes off, knowing I don't have to get up.