was not an expert at garbage! I know what I am talking about. Whoever passes this way, whether Christian or pagan, trader or girl in patent shoes, thief or street-urchin, even an old man who is worn out with age, each and every one of them, I tell you how it strikes me: they all go tramping along after their business, hurrying and scurrying, and shaking off what they are filled with. Their essence and core. There it is lying on the ground in front of me: dirty paper, husks and rotten odds and ends.
The Drunkard:
It has been proved that dust is scattered and stones are dropped even from the stars.
Second Street-Sweeper:
Heaven be merciful to us! With the earth it is worse still. What a night it was! As if the earth wanted to fall to pieces; the dogs were howling, and there was a regular panic in the city. Plaster dropping and copings, and the ceilings! And notices and posters were flying from the houses like leaves. As I crawled out of a doorway, a big board was lying there. On it was the word “Fortuna.” That means luck. Hoho, Fortuna! Luck, but not for us, nor for anybody else either. We shall die, and it’ll be glory and amen.
First Street-Sweeper:
Why, the earth was rocking
The Drunkard:
What was rocking?
First Street-Sweeper:
Why, the earth!
