A. found a collection of items on the driveway this morning: one caster wheel, a roll of paper towels, some electric cable zip ties, a toe nail clipper, some screwdriver bits, a lock tumbler, a valve housing and a few fittings, a spark plug, a few drywall screws, a dental hook thingy, and other seemingly random items. Since we’d risk puncturing our tires if we were to drive over the screws, I bagged up all the flotsam and jetsam and tossed them into the trashcan outside. About a half-an-hour later, a guy rang the doorbell and asked me where all the stuff from the driveway had disappeared to. Another shorter more agitated dude then walked up and asked if I’d seen a toolbox and a wheeled cart. Apparently the shorter guy had gotten into a Valentine’s Day quarrel with his lady friend last night, and this led to a select portion of his possessions being strewn about on our driveway.

They were insistent on getting back the stuff I’d thrown out, and I assured them that it wasn’t a problem and that I’d come out to get it for them. They started to repeat that they really needed the stuff, and I interrupted rather grouchily, “DUDE! I’m coming out!” I bent down to slip on my shoes, and when I stood up they’d disappeared around the corner and they had started helping themselves to the trash. When I caught up with them, they’d found the bag of stuff and were about to open a bag of our kitchen garbage when I told them it’d just been the one bag. They relented and headed back to their Dodge, bag in hand; the shorter one said to me that the toolbox had contained thousands of dollars worth of tattoo equipment. I muttered, “well if they turn up...” and I trailed off and shrugged because nothing will turn up at my house.

Oh, the toe nail clipper in the driveway was in good shape, and ours has an underbite. So I’d cleaned, disinfected, and kept the one I found before the guys had shown up. I doubt anyone will come back asking about the clipper, but if they do I’ll claim ignorance and point the finger at the girlfriend.