He felt like pumping his fist in the air or doing some kind of victory dance. He had scored a mirror in the first five minutes—no, the first five seconds—of his search.
Then he realized how totally nuts it was to be celebrating a
broken mirror.
What in the world was he thinking?
Quickly, he jammed his hands in his coat pockets and pretended to be interested in something down the street. A cop had stopped to help a VW Beetle with a flat. Arthur waited until the cop had his back turned and some other cars had passed by before he grabbed the mirror, stuck it under his right arm, and hurried to the cart.
—
On the next street, things got even better.
Arthur found a nice polished table—the kind you’d put at the end of a sofa—sitting by someone’s curb. It had curved legs and some gold leafy designs painted on the top. The only thing it was missing was a drawer in the front.
Since the Junk Man hadn’t liked the straggly branches he’d left the week before, Arthur thought maybe he hadn’t really wanted “pieces of wood” like branches. He’d meant pieces
made
of wood. Like furniture. Which made more sense when Arthur thought about all the broken furniture the Junk Man used to haul around the neighborhood in his cart.
In which case, the table would be perfect.
Carefully, Arthur lifted the square table and set it sideways in the cart. It was too big to carry, so he was glad he’d brought the cart. He only hoped its stubborn wheels would keep working.
Pulling the black knit cap down farther over his head, he tried not to notice all of the cars slowing to check out what he was doing. He was sure it probably looked as if he was stealing stuff from half the neighborhood as he started down the street again with the big mirror and table legs sticking out of his cart.
The wet snow was falling harder, which he was glad about. Maybe people would pay more attention to the snow than him.
Foil. Coffee cans. Lightbulbs. Those turned out to be a lot more difficult. Arthur began to realize he could keep his eyes open all day and probably never spot any of them lying around outside, waiting to be picked up as a Most Important Thing.
It would be easier to find a discarded toilet—he had seen several of those already.
Eventually, Arthur knew he had no choice. If he wanted to find everything on the list, he would have to look
inside
a few garbage cans.
—
The first garbage can was the worst.
Arthur chose a house where nobody seemed to be home. It was a block away from Mr. Hampton’s garage. There was a green tinsel wreath on the door, but all the windows were dark. There were no cars in the driveway.
Arthur waited until there were no cars coming down the street either. He tried to look like he was just passing by the empty house. With an old grocery cart. Checking out the neighborhood garbage cans. For fun.
The trash can he chose to open appeared to be pretty new—which Arthur thought was a good thing—but the metal lid was slick from the wet snow. The suction created by the water and metal meant he had to work to get the lid free.
Using just one hand to pull wasn’t enough. Gloves didn’t help—they slipped too much. He had to use his bare hands. He grabbed the handle and tugged. Hard.
With one sudden pop, the lid came off. Water splattered across the front of Arthur’s coat. A lot of curse words splattered out of his mouth.
As he stood there with who-knows-what all over him, Arthur tried to tell himself there were worse things in life. Being covered in trash water wasn’t as bad as having a rusty razor held to your neck, right?
Sure.
Arthur exhaled slowly. He said a few more swearwords to make himself feel better. Then he forced himself to take one step forward and peer into the disgusting depths of the garbage can. He would find something useful inside it, no matter what.
And right there on top, like they were waiting for him, were some foil TV dinner trays. Not too clean, but the list didn’t
Then he realized how totally nuts it was to be celebrating a
broken mirror.
What in the world was he thinking?
Quickly, he jammed his hands in his coat pockets and pretended to be interested in something down the street. A cop had stopped to help a VW Beetle with a flat. Arthur waited until the cop had his back turned and some other cars had passed by before he grabbed the mirror, stuck it under his right arm, and hurried to the cart.
—
On the next street, things got even better.
Arthur found a nice polished table—the kind you’d put at the end of a sofa—sitting by someone’s curb. It had curved legs and some gold leafy designs painted on the top. The only thing it was missing was a drawer in the front.
Since the Junk Man hadn’t liked the straggly branches he’d left the week before, Arthur thought maybe he hadn’t really wanted “pieces of wood” like branches. He’d meant pieces
made
of wood. Like furniture. Which made more sense when Arthur thought about all the broken furniture the Junk Man used to haul around the neighborhood in his cart.
In which case, the table would be perfect.
Carefully, Arthur lifted the square table and set it sideways in the cart. It was too big to carry, so he was glad he’d brought the cart. He only hoped its stubborn wheels would keep working.
Pulling the black knit cap down farther over his head, he tried not to notice all of the cars slowing to check out what he was doing. He was sure it probably looked as if he was stealing stuff from half the neighborhood as he started down the street again with the big mirror and table legs sticking out of his cart.
The wet snow was falling harder, which he was glad about. Maybe people would pay more attention to the snow than him.
Foil. Coffee cans. Lightbulbs. Those turned out to be a lot more difficult. Arthur began to realize he could keep his eyes open all day and probably never spot any of them lying around outside, waiting to be picked up as a Most Important Thing.
It would be easier to find a discarded toilet—he had seen several of those already.
Eventually, Arthur knew he had no choice. If he wanted to find everything on the list, he would have to look
inside
a few garbage cans.
—
The first garbage can was the worst.
Arthur chose a house where nobody seemed to be home. It was a block away from Mr. Hampton’s garage. There was a green tinsel wreath on the door, but all the windows were dark. There were no cars in the driveway.
Arthur waited until there were no cars coming down the street either. He tried to look like he was just passing by the empty house. With an old grocery cart. Checking out the neighborhood garbage cans. For fun.
The trash can he chose to open appeared to be pretty new—which Arthur thought was a good thing—but the metal lid was slick from the wet snow. The suction created by the water and metal meant he had to work to get the lid free.
Using just one hand to pull wasn’t enough. Gloves didn’t help—they slipped too much. He had to use his bare hands. He grabbed the handle and tugged. Hard.
With one sudden pop, the lid came off. Water splattered across the front of Arthur’s coat. A lot of curse words splattered out of his mouth.
As he stood there with who-knows-what all over him, Arthur tried to tell himself there were worse things in life. Being covered in trash water wasn’t as bad as having a rusty razor held to your neck, right?
Sure.
Arthur exhaled slowly. He said a few more swearwords to make himself feel better. Then he forced himself to take one step forward and peer into the disgusting depths of the garbage can. He would find something useful inside it, no matter what.
And right there on top, like they were waiting for him, were some foil TV dinner trays. Not too clean, but the list didn’t
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