It was a week day. Board daylight. The landlord was downstairs, likely in his office, getting ready to close up shop for the night. I can tell when he’s still around because his car is still in the parking lot out behind our place, which consists of a row of spots that empties into an alley.
A man, appearing to be of Mexican origin, wearing baggy jeans and a tight white sleeveless shirt began walking through the parking lot toward the building. I watched him from my second story with curiosity. He didn’t look like the type that might want to purchase something downstairs. Perhaps he was visiting the guy next door? After he disappeared below he didn’t come up the stairs, and after a few moments I saw him walking away from the building carrying the spare gutters and the metal ice bucket that had been sitting on the back porch. He casually begins walking out through the parking lot when my land lord runs outside.
The two converse. Voices are raised. There is some pointing at the weird house behind us. The man returns the metal and leaves the property. I saw him later walking around with an actual shirt on.
Sometime (often, actually) I see trucks driving around with scrap metal thrown into the extended truck bed. I assume that this is some sort of money making venture that suburbanites such as myself have never before encountered.
City. You is crazy.