In a quiet Midwestern neighborhood, the morning moves slow. Rico, a sanitation worker with copper-tipped locs and a confidence that sits easy on him, rolls up for another pickup. But this stop isn’t routine. At the curb stands a man in his fifties — robe half-tied, slides on, chain catching light against brown skin.
One man working. One man watching. Between them: a garbage bin, summer heat, and a silence thick enough to hold a secret.
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