In my apartment at 6:02 I hear an ice cream truck version of Für Elise start outside. I grab the blue plastic bag from the trash can, tie it up, kick on my flip-flops, and run downstairs. Outside, people carrying bags of the same color and widely varying sizes are converging from all directions on the truck, which is parked down the street. Actually, there are two trucks -- a big garbage truck and a smaller pickup behind it. We throw our blue bags into the big one and watch them get compressed by the metal door. There are big plastic tubs set behind it where people dump their compost and restaurant workers take turns pouring a day's worth of leftovers. The compost truck takes my empty water and yogurt bottles. I notice some people putting their bottles in a separate heap nearby, which is being watched over by an old woman. She tells me she's a private recycling enterprise. Noticing that some people put their recycling in the pickup while others choose her pile, I ask her what the practical difference is. She shrugs.