In the town where I live, there is no garbage collection.
You have to take your trash to the dump yourself. (It's offically called the transfer station, but everyone calls it what it is: the dump.)
But as dumps go, it's a pretty cool dump.
There's one section referred to as the Duxbury Mall, where people leave "good" stuff that you can take: rusty bicycles, moldy wicker rocking chairs, 30-year-old blenders, dusty fake Christmas trees. You name it, you can find it. (My son once got a bizarre wagon/scooter combo that the kids in the neighborhood referred to as "the Demented-mobile.")
In addition to the Duxbury Mall, there's a trailer called the Duxbury Book Exchange!
Every time I go there, I worry that I'm going to find one of my books.
2 comments:
Oh wow! That book room is something else. Thanks for bringing back fond memories of going to the dump with my grandfather. My mother hated it and I loved it, always looking for buried treasure. (But I'd have to hide whatever I brought home for a few days and not tell her that it came from the dump.)
Barbara-- I'm laughing... my husband LOVES to go to the dump. We've actually gotten some pretty cool stuff that way. (Though I have to remind him from time to time that we don't NEED 5 weed-whackers...) I wish we had a book section.
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