Not-so-scenic detour
In my youth, the dump was a large boxy structure across the road from the house, where we brought our bags (paper, not plastic in a truly biodegradable period). If it got too full, my father would set in on fire, until the necessary space was recovered. An early incinerator, I guess.
Later, the dump was that place that raised flocks of seagulls, over by the racetrack. We’d take a trunkful at a time, and keep the windows closed while my father threw the bags as far as he could. There was a bulldozer and a constant haze of smoke. An early landfill incinerator, I guess.
Well, I now live in a large city, and although I recycle as much as I can, the truck still picks up our green bin contents once a week and takes it to, well, somewhere…
Our city bus route is detoured, due to road deconstruction, around a railway yard and the city incinerator. A huge affair, larger than the Grand Theatre. No comments on culture please. As well, there is a mountain of metal, and buildings that are part of the recycler world. Turns out that the ash from the incinerator is placed in a faraway landfill.
Consider this to be a small proof of the evolution theory.
