The Find

Jerry and I are dumpster diving when we find it.

He thinks it’s perfect, a genuine find. A tall armoire, deep maple finish.

“A beaut,” Jerry says. “Stop.”

I pull the truck over—we’re off the main streets here, out behind an older lot of row houses. The sun has started to set, and twilight is pouring on the shadows.

“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s get that fucking thing in the truck.”

There’s no breeze in the alley. No breeze and no god-damned light.

“Just a minute,” Jerry says. His arms are wrapped around the