Every Saturday night at 11:30pm, I clock out of Stir, the restaurant where I work. To reach my car, I navigate a crowded sea of people, restaurants, and bars that line Station Street. The people on the street are the same ones who turn my work, and that of other employees on Station Street, into a living chaos. To be so carefree feels like a privilege.

Every Sunday morning, I walk the same path in reverse. The street is now empty aside from the trash and abandoned objects that have been left behind. The lifecycles of these objects were short: purchased, used, and discarded. Their now worn and discarded state echoes the bitter truth that service industry workers are often mistreated, even after working quietly and tirelessly in the background every day. Even so, the cycle on Station Street continues, satisfying the objectives of its design. I clock back in.