One Man’s Trash
    
Almost.
    
Fingers tingling with anticipation, I looked up toward the dreary, smoke-filled sky and back again. It was almost nightfall. Impatient, I hopped over slick tiles until I reached my home. It only consisted of two roofs overlapping with a tattered blanket on it, but it was home. I slid in and checked the marks on the wall. Thirty scratches. It should come tonight.
    
Creak.
    
I darted over to the edge of the roof and looked down. The door was opening now. Yes! Slowly, ever so slowly, a dark figure emerged, hauling a huge load in a tarp. Dumping the tarp into the dumpster, the figure disappeared inside.

I knew I should wait until the sun set, but I was too impatient. I followed my usual path. Slide down gutter, land on brick jutting out, jump to trashcan, and slide to the ground.
    
Crouching behind the dumpster, I smiled. It had come. I hurriedly sprang up and grabbed the tarp, not filled with gems or money, but with . . .
    
Footsteps pattered toward me. There was nowhere to hide. Letting go of the tarp and its precious contents, I scuttled behind a corner. A boy. I exhaled in relief; it was only a kid. A thief, by the looks of him. Peering around the corner, I spotted him rooting through the dumpster. Thankfully, he lifted the tarp up and collected what he was after from underneath. He filled a burlap sack with half-rotten fruit and left.

 I grabbed my treasure and darted back up to the roof, heart still pounding from the close encounter. When I was safe in my corner, I opened the tarp to find . . . books. My treasure. I picked one called The Wind in the Willows and opened it. Shivering in my only home, I began to read.