During our visit to Seattle we took the opportunity to go for a walk in a local, Sound-side park. Heading down a trail to our car, after giving Anne's dog, Archie, a grand outing, we saw something glittering around and beneath a car in the parking lot below. A closer look revealed a huge accumulation of pop/beer cans on the tarmac, being run over by an old Dodge Dart, or something like...

Back and forth, back and forth, flattening the cans. It was not efficient, it looked like it would take forever. We agreed the object must be selling scrap. But the most perplexing question was how did all those cans get there---it certainly didn't look like they could have all fit in the Dart. I mean there was a small lake of them. All day we argued about whether the cans had got there in the Dart. My (minority) opinion was that they had, that only the ones in the front, by the driver, were in bags, and that the others were loose, under the seats, snugged in layers on the deck of the back window, tucked into the spaces between door latch and door, crimped and pushed into glove box and console, stacked carefully, seat-high, all the way round, just enough room for the driver to work his pedals. And the trunk, of course. I knew it would have to be done skillfully, the modern day version of building the load on the hay wagon. No one agreed.
Mainly, though it was just that we couldn't get that momentary image, of the driver rolling over the carpet of cans, out of our minds. We told everyone we saw.