I live on a quiet street. The traffic might be three cars a day. Outside of my window now though, a huge white truck has just arrived. It must be worth as least $150,000. Three hefty men climb down from the cab. One folds his arm and watches. One picks up a rake from the back of the truck, and one picks up a scoop. I’m a bit mystified because this is the kind of street that has nicely trimmed lawns, definitely a short-back-and-sides street where people tidily roll out their council bin once a week and dust their letter boxes. The swat team in their fluorescent jackets has seen something though that eluded my careless gaze. In the gutter is a small collection of leaves. Heck, there must be twenty leaves. So the man with the rake swats the leaves into the scoop man’s scoop, and the scoop man solemnly tips the leaves into the back of the truck. The supervisor unfolds his arms and they climb back into their monster truck. The machinery rumbles off with an enormous roar, enough power to generate electricity for a small town.