Three chunky, grubby, streetlit men tossed limp hessian sacks between themselves in a chain, one to the other, until the last, the grubbiest and least streetlit, slid each one neatly onto the back of a worn-out pickup truck. The first man, “Steve!” he had been called, who was the chunkiest but the least grubby, dragged each off a disordered pile on the floor of the dock, for which he had to lean down and each time displayed the shiny crack of his buttocks. He was not using his knees to bend, which was of course very bad for his back, as Slim Tim, the chunkiest but only mildly grubby man in the middle, would tell him later in life, when it was already too late.