100 Words – Transfer Station

waste transfer station

The woman with the clipboard met me at the transfer station gate. My little pickup truck was out of place among the giant garbage trucks. My paranoia screamed. I kept checking the mirrors for angry relatives. None appeared.

My load was just one tarnished old statute of civil war era family embarrassment. I was nominated to remove it and drive it three towns away because I’m the only one with a truck, and I wasn’t a racist asshole. Lucky me. I may sell the truck.

The woman shrugged her shoulders. I paid the dump fee and she waved me in.

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Author: Tom
Writer, cyclist, RVer, etc.