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Movers
From my driveway after rolling down my window I did a screeching L of a backup and stopped by the opposite sidewalk where sitting on a four hundred-pound block of rough-cut granite was neighbor and agent of the street, C.
He had recently overcome a grass-cutting career ending clogged filter on the weedeater I had given him and it and the red plastic gas can that came with the deal were sitting on the ground next to him.
"I need to get rid of my couch and love seat and bed, can you move them, use them, or in anyway get them out of my house for me? And I mean without any effort on my part because if I have to expend energy to get rid of them I have numerous options that don't include you, or actually, may include you, but not in the fashion I am attempting to include you at this point in time."
He said, "Of course, let me think about it. She around the corner is offering me that upstairs, a room and board kind of thing in exchange for me doing some work for her…"
"Fuckbuddy?"
"Naw mane, just renovation work. So I maybe could use the bed but I don't wanna haul no couches up there. She say she has to run a water line up there and will run an extension cord so I can have electricity" (a thing the little shanty behind him hasn't had for over a year.)
"Hmm, could be ok," I said.
He seemed similarly enthusiastic. "When you want this?"
"Soon as possible, but maybe not the bed tonite."
"Okay, let me talk to Junkyard, he has a better clientele for selling larger items like that, maybe he can make it something worth the while for us."
About sundown they came and got the couches and stacked them across the street on the sidewalk, by the chunk of granite. This morning they were gone.