Dump Run…


dump - CopyWhen in doubt, go to the dump—that’s what I did this week. On the broken side there was a hammock, an ironing board and two garden hoses that specialized in kinking. One hose belonged in a comedy routine—five minutes to get it straight but the second I eased up on it, it would kink somewhere way back by the faucet, cutting off the water flow. The ironing board wouldn’t collapse for storage until I ….bent it. The hammock was great—the blue jays really liked it for target practice.

Most of the waste was wood from the previous owner, a self-proclaimed carpenter. He loved nails. Long ones. Everywhere.

I popped in a Michael Franks cassette—who remembers him?—for the drive to the county dump where, as always, people asked if I wanted to sell the truck. No way.

Now that I have removed clutter, I’ve discovered new clutter that I didn’t know I had. I see more dump runs in the future.

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