Opinion | clap – NRC

With our regular club we pick up litter in a parking lot. We pick weed bags from the asphalt, lots of plastics, more and more butts and cigarette boxes, no more nitrous oxide cartridges. While the others are busy down the road, I collect empty beer cans in a corner where there is open dealing. A ragged man approaches me, carrying a stuffed plastic bag and a half-empty rum bottle in his hand. He stands right in front of me, glaring at me. I back away, but he slaps me on the shoulder and growls, “Good job!”

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