June 1969:

It was trash day in the little town I grew up in. Everyone would put their trash out at the curb. That included bulk items. The neighborhood was quiet and middle class. It was a sunny morning. Very still, no wind. I took a walk towards the park. Suddenly my stride stopped and the trash pile beside me caught my attention. The lid was off one of the over flowing cans. There were what looked like the pieces of a couch lying there in the grass. I looked at the open can on the right. Fixating on the brown papers at the top, I just stared. One piece, the third one from the top, slid out from under the stack and laid on the edge of the broken couch frame. It seemed like it wanted to be there to say hello to me that morning.


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