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“Going, going, gone!” Dad said as we watched the derelict mobile home collapse into itself.
A swarm of workers began the further dismantling of Uncle Phil’s former residence. It amazed me how easily the thing disintegrated into a pile of rubble. Some items were being salvaged for repurposing, but the rest I surmised was destined for the great trailer park in the sky. We had pulled out most of Uncle Phil’s furnishings and personal belongings and donated them to charity. He had boxes and drawers of papers, photos, manuals, and miscellaneous memorabilia, which we sorted through, purged, and reduced to a single box that was temporarily put in my storage unit.
“Once all the crap is out of here,” Dad said, “we’ll bring in a manufactured home, which is more suitable than a mobile home.”
