This is Roman Mars. I'm in beautiful San Francisco, California.

Recently, Roman headed across the bay from Oakland to San Francisco.

He is not in the city very much, only a couple times a month.

But if I'm here during the daytime and I have a little bit of time, I very often go to Tony's slice house in North Beach and get a slice of pizza and soda and a paper cup.

Roman took his pizza and he started walking.

And when he was done eating, he looked around for a trash can.

There's no trash can where I'm sitting right now.

I don't know if there's one in the next block, but I kind of expect a trash can every major intersection.

Because that's where people end up standing while they wait to cross the street, and they might have something to throw away.

It makes sense.

But like he said, no trash cans in sight.

And it got me thinking, who determines how frequent there should be a trash can?

And like, who determines the placement?

Are they placed like strategically?

Is there an algorithm or a formula for these things?

Because when I see the sort of dirt-durth of trash cans in the city,

and I'm walking around with my, you know, food waste, I think,

well, this is why the city is so dark.

Like, it has a lot of litter.

I don't mean to sound like Tucker Carlson.

Civilization itself is coming apart in San Francisco, right there in broad daylight, on the city's

sidewalks, which are littered with junkies and feces and dirty needles.

...