Which Bin
Nnamdi had stopped correcting people. He sat in the hut at the recycling centre on Marsh Lane in Leeds and watched, because everyone who asked which bin already knew which bin.
On Saturday morning Ludovica carried in a huge cardboard cutout of a man in a space suit, taller than she was.
“Where does this go?” she said. “It’s card, but there’s a plastic film over the front.”
“Where do you think?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” She turned it round. An army of small robots was printed across the back. “It’s from a science-fiction film. It’s been in my cupboard for eleven years.”
“Mm.”
“The plastic’s thinner than a sheet of paper. You’d hardly call it a material.”
“Mm-hm.”
“So really I could put the whole thing in the rubbish and nobody would know.”
“Nobody would know,” Nnamdi agreed.
She looked at him. “You’re supposed to argue with me.”
He nodded at the row of bins. “I used to. Go on. It’s your Saturday.”
Ludovica stood there for a moment. Then she walked over, pulled the plastic film off the front, dropped it in one bin, and put the card in with the card.
“Every time,” Nnamdi said, to nobody in particular.