Anse was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that as a town employee he was expected to sacrifice his evenings and weekends to mastering the intricacies and particulars of a street milling machine. His Boss stated with the confidence of putting the matter to rest, that the life blood of suburban towns pivots on the depth of its tax base. Frustrated, Anse, still not quite grasping the connection between the town’s claim on his free time and the size of its wallet, kicked over the lunchroom garbage can. His Boss assured him that once the new condos were built, the town would be sitting pretty. But right now, he cautioned Anse, we’re like Lipton soup in a can, which made no sense either.