Mere seconds after I published the last post, the nice man in the big truck came to haul away the shameful evidence of neglect and decay our dropbox.
I was too shy to boldly march out in my dressing gown (fancy for bathrobe) and fuzzy pink slippers and snap photos, so these were taken through windows and the garage.
First, the hookup, which was very smooth and deeply impressive to someone for whom backing a compact car into an empty 2-car driveway is considered a feat of technical prowess.
Then he hauled it onto the truck and Rhonda was afeared that all the junk would shift and fall out. But it didn’t, and all is well.
Then the little motorized tarp dealy came out and hermetically sealed our junk from the elements.
And then without so much as a cheery wave, off he drove with our junk, leaving a strangely lonely absence of dropbox.
After we dried our eyes and said a few words about the dear departed junk (“Good riddance!” etc) we went back to our humdrum lives, poorer in junk but richer in spirit. Or something.