... as the old man with the white beard pulled and poked at the junk in front of my house. One man's trash is another man's treasure. Only this time, the trash/treasure was the remains of my son's train table- a few pieces of pine, plywood and screws. He looked over the pine bookcases that I built back in college with my friend Billy. But he left, only taking the pieces he needed. He carried each piece of wood carefully across the street to his truck. And the next time I looked out the window, he was gone.

So goes the first of many days as the house begins to empty.

|