I see a lot of trash on the side of the road when I run. Every single discarded item has many elements to its story. How it was made, when it was purchased—and sometimes the most interesting story of all—how it wound up on the side of the road.
Most trash is just wantonly dropped out the window with no thought about the ramifications, but I’ve written about how a broken smartphone ended up on the shoulder of a rural road. I’ve noticed how a love poem was smeared by the rain. But I cannot imagine any story to explain how the medical exam table—complete with stirrups—was discarded alongside this wooded, dead-end road.