Sometimes I feel I need to attend a Scrapper's Anonymous meeting. Just from those awkward looks I get from friends asking why I have "all that stuff" in the bed of my pickup. This summer's best insult came from a passerby as I was loading a curbside dryer. "Get a real job!" he screamed as he rolled by. I just laugh on my way to the scrapyard, and ultimately, to the bank.
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