This was a morning for patience, when I got stuck on a narrow, one-way street behind a giant trash truck after dropping Peter at the office. With no way to get around the truck for at least a block, I settled in to be annoyed. But then I started watching the two guys as they simultaneously picked up trash bags from either side of the street. Their strength and mastery of a basically crappy job led to a delicate duet of strong lifts, graceful spins and perfect timing as they pitched bags of trash from all angles and distances, never hitting each other or missing the dumpster. Instinctively they discerned the weight of a bag, dragging the heavy ones close or tossing light ones two or three at a time from the distant curb, propelled with a spin like a shot putter would use. The more I watched, the more I became an appreciative audience for these trash dancers, and when a clearing opened, I gave them a big, stupid smile as I passed.