My mom and I were cleaning up our attic this weekend, and in the process I found all sorts of old junk that I had forgotten about. Of course, I wanted to keep everything I saw; otherwise, I would not have stashed it there in the first place. But after standing over me and prying my hands off of every item that I encountered, my mom finally convinced me to haul all of my broken treasures to the Dump. I wince at the thought of having to brave the ever-present gloom that reigns there. The Dump is a strange and repulsive place, where people tend to bury the human spirit along with their refuse.
From the main road, the Dump looked like a prison. The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link with barbed-wire stretched tightly around the top of it. As I followed the slow procession of vehicles through the front gate, I noticed a man peeking through the blinds of a dirty office building. The building's tan exterior was peeling away, probably as a result of prolonged exposure to the toxic environment. Up on a hill overshadowing the recycling bins, there was another unsightly tan building. This one was twenty-five feet tall and draped with rusty sheet-metal. Trucks full of old furniture, brush, and tree limbs were unloaded inside of this building, for it contained the largest crushing machine on the premises. When activated, it made torturous scraping noises accompanied by splintering crackles. The old building looked like it had been rammed into at least a hundred times, and if it happened one more time, it would collapse taking every thing in it straight to hell.
The stench was unbearable. I pulled my shirt up over my nose to try and filter the bitter air. Moments later, I saw a rat fumbling around with a Mac Donald's bag. Weeds bordering the fence were littered with plastic wrappers, styrofoam cups, and other non-biodegradable materials. Polluted water that was seeping out of the dumpsters had...