You see trash. I see opportunity. Some call me a garbage man. Others, a visionary. I collect, I curate, I hustle.

Every morning, I make my rounds—picking up the forgotten, the discarded, the undervalued. And then? I flip it for profit. A perfectly aged banana peel (vintage, high-slip potential). A half-chewed popsicle stick (artsy, rustic vibes). A sock so stiff it could stand on its own (“lightly used,” buddy, take it or leave it).

People laugh—until they need something. And when they do, they come to me. Always puffing my cigar, my gold tooth glinting through the smoke, always with a deal on the table. Because in the end, trash isn’t worthless. You just haven’t found the right buyer.