Work Text:
It was recycling day.
Bob knew it was time for his weekly routine to start as soon as he rose with the sun. His mother still sleeping, he took the time to do his usual activities, pouring himself a glass of milk to drink and brushing his teeth. Unlike other days, where he would find himself some breakfast to munch on, he instead took care to tie up the bag of recycling from the bin, metal, paper, and glass mingling together. Hoisting it over his back like he were some brave adventurer, he opened the front door to hoist it on to the curb. Dusting his hands, he stood for a moment, proud of himself. Of course, he was only half done.
Walking back around to the back of the house, Bob found another bag of recycling, full and ready to be collected, next to the greenhouse. This was his favorite part. Wheeling out an old wagon from the backyard, Bob tossed the bag on it, sticking his tongue out as a foul-smelling liquid emerged from the bag. But now, the best part had begun! Grabbing the handle of the wagon, Bob went on down the dirt road that functioned as a driveway before meeting sidewalk. He strolled down the road, the rhythmic thumps of the wheels over the cracks in the sidewalk giving him his own version of a tune.
Soon enough, he was at his destination. It was the local scrap yard, located not too far away from Bob and his mother’s house. Perfect walking distance! He rolled up excitedly to the window, where a bored older man stood. Bob knocked at the window, startling the man. The man looked over with agitation for a moment, before the crease in his bushy eyebrows softened as he realized who he was looking at.
“Just a moment, kid,” he said.
Bob rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for the man to come out of the building. Sure enough, a few moments later, the man arrived, thick gloves on calloused hands, a white shirt stained with dust and dirt on his torso. He took the bag off of Bob’s wagon, opening it. The smell made Bob’s nose wrinkle.
“Nothing like the smell of warm beer, eh?” The man said sarcastically. “Well, head on back to the window, I’ll be right there.”
With a nod, Bob dashed off with his wagon, eagerly awaiting his reward. After a minute or two, the man returned, sliding dirty bills and coins under the window. “Three-fifty, kid. Don’t spend it all in one place!”
“Thank you!” Bob said quietly as he shoved the money in his pocket.
And so began the walk home. He could buy some bubblegum, maybe. Or keep this in his piggybank… Much to think about. He couldn’t help but wonder, though. He always set out to do this, cans already crushed and neatly stored with their plastic bag confinements. But there were enough cans to get what Bob viewed as a good amount of money each week. He knew he should be concerned about the amount of the cans. About what they used to contain. About who was drinking them.
Thump, thump, thump.
But that was for another day.