Recycling

I’m looking for a guy. Maybe you can help. It’s the guy who throws the local shopper newspaper onto my porch, up the sidewalk, into Pat’s flower beds, or just leaves it flopped in the front yard. Winter, summer, rain, snow, sleet, hail and in the dark of night this guy pitches newspapers I don’t want and have to pick up whether they’re dry and neatly bound with a rubber band or, more usually, in a soppy, sodden soaky mess. I want this guy. I want to know where he lives because I’ve been saving the papers – nearly a dozen trash bags now – and I want to give them back. I figure he’s been doing this for so long and with such enthusiasm it must give him real joy. I want to feel his joy. I want to giggle as I whip wet crusty newspapers toward the front of his house, onto his walkway and at his wife’s flower beds.

Actually this is just a bargaining chip. The guy I really want is the one who leaves the forty pounds of phone books on my porch every year. I don’t need them, don’t want but maybe one every couple of years. I figure the shopper guy has crossed paths with him at least a few times, had a conversation or two, can give me the make and model of his vehicle or even knows where he lives. If I can find that guy then he’ll get the newspapers and the phone books. I’ve been saving them, too. And I’ll probably be giggling with joy at each one I whip into his yard..