Standing near the corner of 63rd and Madison waiting for movers to arrive, I wander back and forth between various stations: leaning on a newsstand on the corner, pacing in front of the building’s service entrance (our rendezvous point), sitting on a low fence protecting a tree. There’s a food truck across the street, popular with construction workers and hired drivers (the loading zone on the street in front of me is a parade of taxis and black cars). I watch a Cadillac SUV pull up to the curb and the driver get out. He crosses over to the food truck, where he orders out of the back door instead of the line at the window – he must be a regular – then carries his bag of food back to the vehicle. He pulls out a Styrofoam container and plastic fork, and proceeds to devour his falafel platter. When he’s finished he puts everything back in the bag, exits the vehicle, walks over to the pile of recyclables on the curb in front of where I’m standing and tosses the bag on top. Then he gets back in his SUV and drives away. A short time later an elderly Chinese woman, pushing a cart full of cans, stops at the heap of bags and starts rummaging through the pile. She opens the small bag of discarded lunch leftovers, glances at its contents, hesitates, then casts it back onto the pile. She pulls a few plastic bottles from one of the other bags and leaves.