What could be more boring than a bin?
They are not objects of exquisite beauty.
Homesick exiles never reminisce about them.
Lovers don’t spoon together in their shade.
They’re so usefully boring that, unless filled to overflowing, we usually don’t notoice them or give a second look.
But sometimes, sometimes … when stars and tides and politics are all in perfect alignment, bins are just the perfect spot to make a point.
This today on East Claremont Street.