There's enough dumpsters out this
way, I could spend fifty or sixty hours going through them all, so I've
got to be selective. I know how each company's trash has been running --
lots of good stuff or mostly crap -- lately, and I trust my intuition to
take me to the right places. I'd love to go to the Sega or Nintendo
dumpsters, but they're like Stalag Thirteen -- razorwire and
motion-sensors and armed guards. They're the only companies that take
secrecy seriously." Suddenly he changed lanes and pulled up the driveway
of an industrial complex.
"Spidey-sense is tingling," he said, as he killed his lights and crept
forward to the dumpster. "Ready to lose your virginity?" he said,
lighting a cigarette.
"I wish you'd stop using that metaphor," Alan said. "Ick."
But Kurt was already out of the Buick, around the other side of the car,
pulling open Alan's door.
"That dumpster is full of cardboard," he said, gesturing. "It's
recycling. That one is full of plastic bottles. More recycling. This
one," he said, *oof*ing as he levered himself over it, talking around
the maglight he'd clenched between his teeth, "is where they put the
good stuff. Looky here."
Alan tried to climb the dumpster's sticky walls, but couldn't get a
purchase. Kurt, standing on something in the dumpster that crackled,
reached down and grabbed him by the wrist and hoisted him up.
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