They brought me in from New Jersey. The “they” I’m talking about is the company that owns me. I’m just a shopping cart, so I can’t read or nothing. I only know that I belong to this company — a landscaping one, I think — that takes me on trips here and there to do work for them.
I didn’t get a chance to go to school. Until now, that is. I mean, this company that owns me, brought me here to this school in New York City. Well, they told me I was going to New York City, but next thing I know I was in Brooklyn. Is that a part of New York City?
I dunno. I just came here, because I was forced to do so. It’s part of my job. Still, I try to find some excitement in it as much as I can. Sure, I could be carting food around like some of my cousins do in those large New Jersey supermarkets, but you know what? I got no other choice. These people took me from the only place I called home and so I decided to embrace this work, and on today’s agenda: clean up P.S. 254.
Here we are — ready to pack up after the job is done. They’re about to load me and my comrades (amongst others: milk carton, stand up fan, and lawn mower) into the truck. Goodbye, NYC. Goodbye, Brooklyn. Goodbye, Sheepshead Bay. Goodbye, P.S. 254. It’s back to the Garden State. At least I get to travel across state lines, which is more than I can say for some of the others.