The blue bin was always the trickiest. It was the "heavy" bin, the one where the remnants of the week’s optimism—half-finished juice cartons, wine bottles from a stressful Tuesday, and piles of junk mail—went to settle.
Arthur’s lid was propped open by a pizza box that refused to fold. [S2E42] Bin Night
Miller was out on his porch, looking confused. He was staring at his own bin, where Leo had mistakenly dropped a single, neon-pink high-top sneaker before being interrupted. The blue bin was always the trickiest
Across the street, Miller was already out. Miller always did his bins at exactly 7:00 PM. He didn’t just roll them; he marched them. Miller’s bins were pristine, wiped down with a damp cloth once a month. Arthur, on the other hand, lived in a state of perpetual "bin-fill anxiety." Miller was out on his porch, looking confused
"Move the pizza box," Arthur said, surprisingly his own internal rule-follower. "If you tuck the trophy face-down in the corner, the recyclables will cover the glint. But you owe me." "Anything," Leo whispered. "You’re doing my bins for the next month." The Morning After
He peeked through the blinds. It wasn't a raccoon. It was a person.