Well, tonight my sister Becky reminded me of a very important thing that I left out of the book. When we lived in Houma, our garbage men had a signature whistle whereby the fellow in the back dumping the cans would signal to the driver of the truck that the cans had indeed been dumped, and he was free to drive on to the next house. I practiced the whistle until I perfected it, then one morning I opened the door just a leeeetle crack and let out the signature "whoo-weeeeeeee-ooh" right when the dumping guy had the garbage can hoisted in mid-air. The driver took off and the garbage spilled all over the street. Our garbage that week was twenty or thirty pounds of crawfish heads and tail shells that had been sucked clean, but not clean enough to remove the savory, stanky stench. So we had a big schmear of rotten crawfish detritus in the street in front of our house for days, until rain and car wheels swept them away.