The compound dust bin is full of treasures again. The dust bin man and his little boy come everyday and on time, like clockwork. Sometimes the little boy sits and watches the birds inside the small loggia while his father rummages through the bins and segregates their contents. Whenever I have a spare toy that my grandchildren have outgrown, I give it to him. Otherwise he waits patiently for his father to retrieve a broken toy or an interesting doodad from the trash and hand it over to him.