The kids in my old neighborhood always loved spring cleaning. It began when one housewife wrestled open winter-stuck windows. Then another threw her rugs over the clothesline and beat them without mercy. It was as if all the women felt the same strange vibration because by the end of the day, every house was turned upside down. Mothers dragged boxes of trash and other good junk into the alley for the garbage man who didn't come until Friday. That gave us plenty of time to go from pile to pile scrounging for loot. It was like a free day for kids and the usual laws among us did not apply. Shelby put on a torn skirt and swished down the alley. No one beat him up. A girl wore an old blue work shirt with Freddy stitched in red cursive letters over the front pocket. Hand me that wrench, she said in a deep voice, and pretended to fix a flat. Honey, time for a supper, a boy in a house dress sang in a sweet voice, and we all fell out. Sweet Pea, the neighbor man's mutt, jumped for joy, and my brother fit a little girl's torn Easter bonnet on her head and tied the sash under her chin. Instead of shaking it off like a regular dog, she pranced down the alley like she herself had rolled away the stone. We took what we wanted and didn't worry about the trash that spilled onto the ground. Later, our mothers came outside for a breath of fresh air and found unmentionables scattered up and down the street for the whole world to see.