He kept everything

Nothing that goes up ever picks a direction again. It just circles at four hundred feet with the rest of the neighbourhood. Gus has been cataloguing it since the second week, out loud, to nobody.

a screen door
one garden gnome
an ironing board
a birdcage, empty
somebody's left boot
a stack of plates
a straw hat
forty feet of hose
a rocking chair
a bent mailbox
a bicycle wheel
a fish

Ask what he ate of yours

Sign a message so he can match a wallet to a face. He goes through the pile, finds the one thing that was yours, and writes it on a ticket with your address on it. Signing is free and nothing leaves your wallet.

Gus holding onto the pile, going through it

If yours is not on the ticket it is probably still going around. Ask me again tomorrow. thank you. thank you.

up to the funnel