The unkempt piles of garbage, strewn across our front yard, enticed vultures of another kind. One poor fellow stopped by and started picking through the obvious piles of trash. As he perused the broken remains of our possessions, I approached and asked him if he needed help. He said that he thought we were having a yard sale. Sadly, I had to inform him that this wasn’t the case. We found that some islanders really struggled with getting that second digit in their IQ.
Dealing in garbage is an island specialty. There were a number of people that would look for all kinds of scrap to sell to recyclers. Their opportunism was only slightly greater than their avarice. They would sit in their cars, across the road from the little blue house, and eye our scraps from afar; greedily making mental notes of what they could convert into cold hard cash. One of these vultures, was our landlord’s son-in-law. Even as the corpse of our belongings lay rotting in the hot July sun, the Mcdonald’s were still desiring to make money off of us.
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