Walter stepped heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe. There was a rock in his shoe. He kicked a can, hopped over a fence, and landed in a pile of trash. Walter stared, as was his wont, for about 30 seconds at his foot underneath a rotting cantaloupe. Then he stared for 30 seconds at the sky, saw a curious flash, then turned his gaze toward a thunderous, huge vehicle coming down the street at an alarming rate of speed for such a size, multitudinous cans and shovels and rakes hanging from its sides.
The truck was splendent in its design: beneath the clanging garbage accoutrements was silver and blue metal. It looked painted but then again it didn't; it looked rather organic. It was loud; the exhaust pipes blew shimmering heat into the morning air and the tress slightly above the roof. There was an hydraulic lift with two arms sticking forward out each side of the cab. It was a garbage truck. It roared toward Walter like it would run him over but the driver peered out the windscreen and smiled with a surprised look on his face as he slowed surprisingly quickly to a stop, the engine sounding like it was an unwinding turbine.
The driver jumped out and landed two-footed in the street next to his truck. His garb was an impressive uniform: black knee boots with buckles, no laces. Blue-silver pants tucked in the boots with ringlets of silver cord down the outside seam and a large machete stuck there. He was not a man of perfect physical fitness-- there was a bit of a belly above his four-inch wide aluminum-looking belt. His shirt was as shiny as stainless steel but appeared as supple as cotton. He wore dark glasses that showed nothing of his eyes. His hair was tousled brown.
He smiled and called out toward Walter: "Ho, Trancharian! What fortune I find you here, at last, returning to your ship. The stoic lord has appeared!"
Walter looked down and realized he was in standing a dumpster. He stared at his feet, not because he was processing the scene slowly, but because he was fascinated that he ended up here and couldn't remember how. And what was this, this...garbage man saying? Trancharian? Returning to my ship? Is there someone else here? Walter glanced side to side, then back at the garbage man.
"Come sit with me on my rear declination. We'll share some warm earthly beverage. There you are." Walter sat next to him on the bumper. "I know why you do not speak," the garbage man continued. "The female of your species on Tranchar are voluminous, in spirit, size, and speech. The males are like earth's black widow spiders-- they are timid and eaten after mating. But you have come here following one of your females. Very bold. It will be hard to find her: there are many like her here. My suggestion: try the fourth planet in this system-- it has life forms more suited to your desires. Ha ha!"
Walter raised his eyebrows. "Ah, I see you are interested!" said the garbage man. "Let me empty your ship of the human detritus and you can be on your way. Nasty humans, always fouling beautiful work. I use my ship in disguise to perform this task because such befoulment disgusts me. Once I have fixed the hypermatter induction port on my ship, I shall also be on my way. Perhaps we shall meet on the fourth planet!" The garbage man returned to his cab and emptied the dumpster.
"Thusly, Trancharian, your ship is ready! You are free to board!" Walter climbed back into the dumpster.
"May the stars guide your way!" the garbage man yelled. The garbage truck roared into reverse, turned, and glided down the street.
Walter, Trancharian lord, closed the lid of the dumpster, lay down, fell asleep, and dreamed of space.
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