The garbageman came today. I'm not talking about the BFI truck. That comes later. I mean the garbageman, or perhaps garbage picker might be a better term. He comes in a pickup truck, not far removed from the things he fills its bed with.
Most neighborhoods have one, I suppose. One day, I had a brief chat with him. He is somewhat shy, because most people would rather shoo him away from their refuse pile than say, "hi." I asked him what he looked for. "Metal," was his reply. He takes metal and sells it by the pound. He was delighted at our old stainless kitchen sink. That was seven dollars right there.
I don't always have metal, but when I do I try to separate it out and put it in a conspicuous box. Consider it a lazy man's recycle program, if you will. It's not charity, though. The garbageman earns his dollar.