Malcolm rested for a moment. Dawn was brightening the foreshore esplanade, and the ocean beyond the sandy beach glimmered. Such loveliness.
One more block to do. He re-started the engine, lowered the brushes and pushed ahead into the mounds of filth scattered everywhere: beer cans, cigarette butts, abandoned clothing and worse. Sweep, scoop, tip, pulverise. That was Malcolm’s rhythm. Everything into the compactor.
He hesitated as he glimpsed something pink and fleshy flapping about between the brushes, then continued. His job was to clean the street. One more comatose drunk wouldn’t be returning to mess it up again tomorrow.