RICH RALPH
Tall and skinny, Ralph searches thru the dumpster. Rats precede him.
Cats follow. He delves deep and spots one laceless tennis shoe. It is not much better than the worn thin flip flop he is wearing. He sticks the worse of the two in a baggy pocket of his sweater and searches for some string to tie his 'new' tennis shoe. A carefully rolled up newspaper, taped shut, intrigues Ralph. Visions of counterfeit money or sexy magazines that some prude tossed out excite him. That is rare in his shabby life. Reaching high as he can he tries to grab hold of the rusty edge of the dumpster. A little blood runs from his thumb.
Wham, bang, Old Lukey Jones is trying to crawl in. The two bump heads and laugh for the first time today. Ralph tries to hide what he hopes will 'make his day' but Lukey is wise to him and makes a grab for the parcel. His feet slip on some slimy stuff that he just doesn't care to look at. Loud truck sounds fill the air. The two men watch the parade of garbage trucks climbing the man-made hill. There must be ten of them. The whole twisting road stinks. The acrid smell of their own juices isn't noticeable.
Cats follow. He delves deep and spots one laceless tennis shoe. It is not much better than the worn thin flip flop he is wearing. He sticks the worse of the two in a baggy pocket of his sweater and searches for some string to tie his 'new' tennis shoe. A carefully rolled up newspaper, taped shut, intrigues Ralph. Visions of counterfeit money or sexy magazines that some prude tossed out excite him. That is rare in his shabby life. Reaching high as he can he tries to grab hold of the rusty edge of the dumpster. A little blood runs from his thumb.
Wham, bang, Old Lukey Jones is trying to crawl in. The two bump heads and laugh for the first time today. Ralph tries to hide what he hopes will 'make his day' but Lukey is wise to him and makes a grab for the parcel. His feet slip on some slimy stuff that he just doesn't care to look at. Loud truck sounds fill the air. The two men watch the parade of garbage trucks climbing the man-made hill. There must be ten of them. The whole twisting road stinks. The acrid smell of their own juices isn't noticeable.
Something is going on, something unusual. The two men make an effort to escape but the entire dumpster begins to rise. All of the dumpees leave space, lots of space between each other. Garbage, trash, fall in great heaps. Police sirens wail. Cops step out of their cars, kerchiefs tied around their faces. Luckey Jones and Ralph stay low, afraid to try to run away, afraid to stay to see what is happening. Cops step out of their cars, kerchiefs tied around their faces. Luckey Jones and Ralph stay low, afraid to try to run away, afraid to stay to see what is happening.
The gravel road remains clear until it is filled with layers of debris, smoothed and examined as a Goliath of a search begins. Each section receives a pole with a numbered flag and when there is no more hope of finding a treasure of some kind, the workers move to the next spot that receives a pole with a numbered flag. Ralph pushes Luckey Jones ahead of him, signals to a police officer who looks like a rag man in his torn, filthy uniform. 'This man is a vagrant. Get him out of here.' Without asking a question, the officer grabs Lukey by his drooping pants and turns him over to another officer.
The gravel road remains clear until it is filled with layers of debris, smoothed and examined as a Goliath of a search begins. Each section receives a pole with a numbered flag and when there is no more hope of finding a treasure of some kind, the workers move to the next spot that receives a pole with a numbered flag. Ralph pushes Luckey Jones ahead of him, signals to a police officer who looks like a rag man in his torn, filthy uniform. 'This man is a vagrant. Get him out of here.' Without asking a question, the officer grabs Lukey by his drooping pants and turns him over to another officer.
Ralph turns to the next truck load to be dumped. His action attracts no special attention as he walks around the edges of the junk falling to the ground. A gray and what must have been purple burlap bag, held together at the top by a heavy metal band, grabs his attention. It's heavy but not too heavy to drag to the side.The cloth rips and out of it falls a still recognizable silver tray. A tarnished one follows. Silver serving pieces that remind him of things he saw at his grandmother's home years ago, make his eyes pop. He stands up, yells, screams, attracts attention from drivers, from policemen, from a man still clean, still dressed in formal wear. The only presentable man cares not about what he must walk thru, gets to Ralph, kneels, looks at the sky and says aloud, 'Oh, thank you god.' He pulls a fountain pen from his jacket. 'What's your name, mister?' he asks Ralph. 'Why? I didn't steal anything.' Before he gets an answer, he is ordered to wipe his hands. Ralph wipes them on the writer's coat.
God makes no sound as the man looking up to the sky lets big tears flow down his cheeks. A hearty chuckle reaches Ralph's ears as he accepts a check for ten thousand dollars, notation on the bottom, 'Reward.' Ralph and Steinbeck's photos are on the front page of the Morning Sun newspaper commending Ralph for finding the stolen family silver.
Ralph is hereafter called Rich Ralph and luxuriates in his great fortune.
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