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Afternoon sun beams through the receiving door as he pushes past the plastic flap door.  He stands among towers of black tape wrapped above and around pallets full of stock, boxes climbing high above. He battles indecision for a moment then slices through the nearest pallet. He reaches into the brown maw, tearing it open to find the stock as cubic hills and alleyways.

He distributes it straight onto trolleys, taken by his team onto the shop floor, for people to find and purchase. His team work well together, rehearsed in this routine and its daily variances. They chat more than he might like, but they appreciate the chance to talk. The cardboard mountains erode, over six hours, to dust.

The fresh loading dock air floods in when he lifts the roller door after dark. Blue bins and green skips set against drab grey concrete. The sky an odd, starless navy. A cool breeze. He ferries them all outside with a yellow jack. Red and blue to be collected.

The pine ones are recycled, he imagines, as with the paper and plastic. The bins are emptied, rubbish thrown out, and the cardboard compressed. Mostly sustainable.

All of it left out overnight, ready to collect.

 

 

 

 

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