The sound started like a distant drum—metal on metal, the click of a tailgate, the thud of a heavy lid closing. By dawn in Silver Lake, the alley smelled of fresh espresso and sawdust, and a bright yellow roll-off dumpster had arrived where ivy met stucco. I watched the crew flip a longboard-sized sheet of plywood into its yawning mouth and thought: who knew so much of Los Angeles’ life could be measured in cubic yards?
Hook: The Sunrise Drop-off
