On Pender Street we all know which side of the tracks we live on. It's hard not to when you're only one, short block from the chicken factory of death, or when you see our block's designated 'ghost' car circle yet again in case there are any - ack - teenagers about (since clearly poor ones are the worst kind). This week, with the Vancouver garbage strike drawing to a close at last, we've had yet another reminder that our 'hood simply doesn't exist on whatever radar of relevancy they use at city hall. The news earlier this week was full of relieved West Side residents, waving cheerfully at garbage trucks, their streets clean once more. Meanwhile, a week on, the alley behind Pender Street still looks like a war zone. As the piles of trash start to encroach on the roadway, the night is punctuated with the sounds of bottles popping and car tires crunching over someone else's discards. Two dilapidated old mattresses appear to be mounting an escape vehicle made from a backless office chair and half a love seat - perhaps some kind of raft to float away down the river of garbage water pouring downhill. This might be their only chance to make it to the right side of the tracks - anywhere far from here.