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The wrecks and the usual suspects…

Someone must have been anxious to get home.

The car ahead of them, not so much.

Somebody hit somebody at Colony and Sharon View and the resulting field of plastic debris laid along the intersection for several days. I knew come Saturday morning it would still be there, and I’d be ready.

So, I fired up the coffee pot a little earlier and set out shortly after 6 a.m. with two bags. Sure enough, remnants of a bumper and undercarriage were still there. I set my coffee down, and under the glow of the streetlight, picked up everything I could see. Several

This wreckage means someone didn't have a very good day. My Saturday, though, was pretty good: it means more plastic was taken out of circulation.

This wreckage means someone didn’t have a very good day. My Saturday, though, was pretty good: it means more plastic was taken out of circulation.

large chunks were too large to be bagged – one about four feet long, another a two footer – so they were tucked under my arm and I trudged onward.

There must’ve been a lot of people in a rush to get to wherever they were going; another minor collision left another trail of plastic strewn over a dozen yards of roadway at Fairview and Colony. Down goes the coffee mug, into bag #2 goes what looks to be the headlamp housing and front bumper from a Toyota.

Of course, this is on top of the other litter that’s more typical of an early weekend walk. It wouldn’t be official without the perfunctory Coors Light can (a called shot; there’s one Coors Light can on the same stretch of Sharon View Road nearly every weekend morning),

Then there is the usual and sundry suspects. A fairly typical weekend morning haul.

Then there is the usual and sundry suspects. A fairly typical weekend morning haul.

the usual McDonald’s and Burger King debris (who knew they had to many varied packages), plus the flossing thingies, a couple of Jack Daniels mini-bottles, Dean and DeLuca cups and countless other plastic items.

If people didn’t think I was crazy before, they do now. People at stop lights looked and then looked away. At least one dog walker spied me, then crossed to the other side of the street. The larger pieces of car made for an unwieldy walk; I was constantly stopping to adjust their position under my left arm as the load became ever-larger.

But in the end, everything was sorted and bagged for the recycling guy to pick up on Wednesday. He’ll probably think I’m nuts, too.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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