Monday, November 19, 2012

Junk Truck

Leave it to my family to ruin a perfectly nice Sunday morning.  It's my only day to sleep in now and, after weeks of taking classes on Saturday after a 40 hour work week, I'm exhausted.

I was all nice and warm and comfortable when I was startled awake by a horn honking.  It wasn't just a car beeping at another.  It was a loud, obnoxious honk.  And it didn't stop.  I tried ignoring it, but eventually my phone began to ring repeatedly.  The caller I.D. said Brandon.

What did he want?  The sixth time he called I answered.

"Don't you hear me blowing the horn?"

Leave to my idiot brother to be the rude, obnoxious horn honkerer.  I went to the front window and there parked on the street was a Fletcher's Junk truck.

"Why didn't you call, like, yesterday to tell me you'd be visiting?  I could have had company?"

"No, you wouldn't have.  So are you going to let me in or what?"

I went downstairs and let Brandon in.  He still hadn't explained why he was here.

"You know your house sold, right?"

"Yes, Brandon.  It sold to that creepy guy who lives next door.  At this point, I don't care so long as I get my money."

"Well, you left some stuff at the house.  The guy you were renting to said it was your stuff when he left.  So I decided to bring it to you."

I felt my eyelid begin to twitch.  "What am I going to do with it?"

"It's your stuff.  You can't abandon it there."

"But I left it there for a reason."

"You can't abandon it there.  If you want, I'll leave it on the sidewalk for the homeless people to go through."

"What homeless people?"

"You live in the city.  There's bound to be homeless people."

Brandon turned to go back to the truck.  All of sudden, I had visions of hoards of vagrants hanging out outside my house rummaging through my trash and waiting for me to give them more, more, more.  Frightened, I grabbed Brandon's arm.

"No, stop.  Bring it inside.  Maybe I can tell or give it away or something."

He went outside and I collapsed in the nearest chair.

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