The heavy brass chain dropped against the trim, and the deadbolt slid into the frame with a sharp, final thud.

I stood on the damp concrete porch for a long minute while the cold evening wind rattled the dead leaves in the aluminum gutter overhead.

I picked up the first black trash bag by its yellow drawstrings and dragged it down the three wooden steps.

The heavy plastic scraped over the gravel at the edge of the driveway with a loud ripping sound.

I opened the Buick’s trunk, heaved the heavy bag over the rusty bumper and pushed it in past the spare tire.