Scavengers

The curbside collection encapsulates the wreckage of surburban life. An exercise step machine full of dust and cobwebs slumps on a yellowing front lawn. Within a 12 hour period, the machine is picked up and transported away by a couple on their evening walk. A sign on a wicker chair proclaims; "Please no scavengers!" in block capitals. The chair has since disappeared from the assemblage of mustard shelves and tree clippings. All that's left is a lone television set, with a crooked antenna. It faces the street, reflecting Panasonic plasma screen boxes from the house opposite the road.

I like watching the curbside, at the disappearing junk and the scavengers that sift through the unwanted pieces. All hoping to find a missing piece, in the fading sunlight of the street.