This city if full of junk.
I'm walking down a particularly messy street in the Financial District where trash bags pile up like big mountains at the end of every business day. It's after passing an emptied out sidewalk cafe just after lunch hour—with its plastic cups, napkins and leftovers haphazardly thrown about—that I come across this garbage truck posing a question that seems laughable at best.
At every corner is the mandate to 'keep this city clean' in ways small and large - you can pick up the litter on the subway or you can report 'suspicious activity.' Everything becomes submerged into an invasive surveillance culture where more is done privately between alienated voyeurs than by police intervention (though the NYPD never truly hesitates to use excessive force).
The inquisitive garbage truck is the ideological sleight of hand that persuades its passerby's to make qualitative judgements on their own lives but not of this environment. What passes as inherently necessary is not the vital needs (foods, water, shelter) of the peoples which pass through this space but instead all the concrete, steel, and glass which directs flows and conditions behavior.
For in this crowded place where construction workers mis with business suits and a brand new, glass-lined watchtower subverts the repressive high-rises of yesteryear, everything submits to the traffic laws of late capitalism—there is no escape or reprieve. Whose needs are served by this concrete jungle? Is it serving me, or am I serving it? Is it of value for us, or does it rob us of value? Who would have built this if not for financial and power elites? It's time to pick up the phone and make a call—all of this has got to go.