When I first got home,I felt really bad,disgusted and tired and almost got mad.So I then got some sleep just as if I had none,and I dreamt about all of the things I had done.I went out to find stuff just to bring it back home and to make up this story in the form of a poem.I first saw one item disassembled and curbed,a couchy old couch that remained undisturbed.I saw it,drove past it and just left it there.Then I looked on ahead and I noticed a chair.It was dirty and old but completely intact,and was covered with mold as a matter of fact.Then I found a sump pump,picked it up with one hand.Though its cord had been cut,it went right in the van. A sewing machine was the next thing in line.I took it and tried it,turned out to be fine.Then some rusty old shelves were found on the grass.I took them apart and I loaded them fast.When I got back home,put the stuff in a pile. After all,I just knew it would sit there awhile.It would sit through the snow and the wind and the rain,`til the next time I`d find stuff,much more would I gain.Then the day for the scrapyard would finally arrive.It made me feel great and really alive! There`s nothing like picking up junk off the street.When it`s turned in for money,now dat`s really neat!