...a couple Pictionary cards, magazine inserts torn in half, bits of hard black plastic. I think the technical term for this is trash.
Talking trash.
Looking trashy.
She really trashed him.
God doesn't make no trash.
When I was a kid in Massachusetts, sometimes we'd go to the dump. It was great. We didn't build an entire house from its riches the way the poet Mary Oliver did, but we found riches of our own. I remember going once with Hugh and Gretchen and finding a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots game in perfectly good condition. Borrowing from Calvin (of ...and Hobbes fame), there were myriad things I hadn't realized I needed until I saw them at the dump.
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