Early in the morning no one is about except tourists with cameras, construction workers getting a jump on the sun, security guards walking to work talking on their cell phones, taxi drivers washing their vehicles, vendors loading little carts with bananas, potatoes and pineapples for a day of selling.

On the boulevard in Lake Nicaragua Park, at the end of the Calle Libertidad, a few men operate leaf blowers and primp the grounds although the real barrage of tourists is in October, November, and December.

I sit on a curb and see a trash truck overflowing with bags, remember morning rides in Saba on winding dangerous roads on the way for a day of cistern building a number of years ago when I was inclined to volunteer for the hell of it and thought a place to stay was worth moving rock and mixing cement by hand for no pay.

As the men and boys pass, they hang off their truck, wave, laugh, happy to be riding on a cool morning instead of walking. It is not safe to take deductions far but these guys don’t seem unhappy.

” Here we are, ” they say, ” take our picture. ”

And so, I do.

They wave at me, as they go by.

Picking up trash is only bad if you see it that way.

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