Another Man's Treasure

A pack of young drunks enjoying their youth passed by along the sidewalk. “Get a job, you goddamn hobo,” one of the youngsters yelled out, to the applause and cheer of his comrades. Derrick was just happy they didn’t throw anything or spit on him, or beat him again.

Derrick did the rounds without thought. Habit could overcome any concern for behaviour. From one rubbish bin to the next, each a holding of potential for treasures of sorts.

He had become accustomed to the night life. Ambient street lights orbited by confused insects. Screeching tyres of the odd car driven by some hooligan going who knows where so late at night. There was always a certain romance in the sondering about their lives.

The reflection of his opaque figure in a window shop caught his eye--a bitter reminder of the image he often forgot. Patched and torn coat, scraggy unwashed hair, and a an unkempt beard dowsed with grey streaks. He avoided such sights as much as he could. Better to garner ignorance than realise the truth. Truth hurt, no matter how shallow or deeply you comprehended it.

Rummaging the bins required a nack, like a fine art or science, like most all things in life, including life. Experience was the key, it gave insights that no lesson could teach. Street side bins often harbored goods in the way of food. Derrick reached in and pulled containers aside. He felt something soft and moist, the promise of good food, an apple core, still fresh. He knew as he had checked this bin the night before. That was one of the tricks, got to have a good memory, memory was an important thing for the mastery of an art.

He stuffed the apple core in his black plastic bag for later. Sure, he was hungry. Hunger never left him. He would save the core for when he was starving.

Having sorted dinner, Derrick headed for the back alleys of the more commercial dumpsters. There was less people there and the contents provided better opportunity for his mission. A man had to have a mission or he had nothing, even if he had nothing else.

Opening the lids to one of his favourites, he jumped in and vigorously fossicked. Eureka! Another broken DVD player. Derrick loved the new world of technology, how it made the old obsolete and discarded, much like he was.

He walked back home, careful with his pace to not burn extra calories. He cursed himself under his breath for even being excited. An excited heart would change nothing but his rate of hunger.

Once back home under the bridge, Derrick smashed the DVD player apart and extracted a small magnet. He shuffled away the sheets of cardboard from his scavenged workbench. On top rested his lifelong work. The magnet fit neatly into the final spot next to the others in a ring around one of the two plastic wheels.

Removing his hands, the wheels began to spin on their own, without any encouragement. On and on they gathered speed. Never stopping, never snagging. He’d done it! Half the world’s problems were solved. He danced his favourite dance under the bridge that was his home. Clapping his hands and smirking at the old memory of the physicists and engineers who laughed at his determination to build a perpetual motion device. They stuck to the old adage that “nothing can come from nothing”, but all great things in life have come from breaking free of the common perception of reality and the established rules.