After the New Year we sailed our sandbikes along down the gulf where we hung around the landfill plinking rats with pellet rifles. The rats are the size of kittens so they make good targets.
We found this place at the end of the world where old surfers end up after one wave too many and every scruffy sailor with a boat claims to be a smuggler. It is amazing what ends up in a place where no one would be if they had another choice.
Somewhere far south of the golden beaches where tourists tan this small spit of land was once a marsh. Now great barges of garbage come almost daily and deposit detritus from around the world. Shards of civilization are buried here.
Yesterday the crabfoot children who clamber over the piles found a pack of hot dogs barely a month expired. Last week a case of rum caused fistfights until everyone agreed to drink on it.
Once a man digging in the fill found his own family photos sealed in a box as if sent to him from beyond. There are stories of a woman finding gold and tales of live bodies being unearthed in the waste.
Though we visit the landfill at least three times a week we’re usually too busy chasing supper to look for buried treasure.
Mama told us to bring back something different this time. Papa told us not to come home if we didn’t.
Those crabfoot children make tempting targets but they move too fast for our poor aim.
So we traded our rifles for shovels and are digging are way to China.