The people down the street owned one of those makeover-for-your-garage franchises. They ran the business out of their house. Other than the trucks, things were fine. At least, until they got ready to move.
That’s when the garage sales started. For three consecutive weeks, junk spilled out of the house and onto the lawn. It was obvious. They organized garages by taking the clutter home with them. At the end of the third week, a driver dodging a bookshelf, ran into a tree, cracking the largest limb into the street. Another neighbor called code compliance.
The garage experts are gone now, leaving a pile of unsellables by the curb. I made this out of some of their garbage.
CRISPLY SPOKEN 