The fella at number 16 throws out girly magazines. There’s so many of ‘em, so often, he must be a distributor or something. The fella at number 23 did not have a happy childhood. ‘Cause when his mother passed, the bins were overflowing with her things right away — from boxes of family photos to her anniversary mink. And the wife at the clapboard house on the corner is a good cook, though the husband doesn’t agree. Many mornings there’s a whole supper in the bin. From what I can tell, if it’s not up to his standards, or she didn’t keep it warm enough when he was running late, the whole roast gets tossed as well as the potatoes and the pie.