One more snippet before final editing and publishing.

Gerald Hodges left his house at precisely 7:17pm.  He carried his giant, black, heavy duty bags for the treasure he intended to acquire tonight.  He would scope out the sidewalks and streets on his way to the first stop on his list, the municipal, for any cans he would come across.  This was not making him rich, but it kept him in spending money.  Actually, he didn't need anymore money.  He just liked getting out and performing a service, as he liked to call it.  He was recycling something that needed it, and he was performing a community beautification service, for which most people in town were grateful.
He knew a lot of residents in this small town viewed him with either suspicion or contempt, or they just tolerated him, but he didn't care.  He had his little group of old men, where he was the youngest by probably a decade, to provide him with conversation and intellectual stimulation that he had craved ever since his work in the museum.
Boston Whitley was one he particularly enjoyed.  Seth Tryton and Earl Mancoat were window dressing for the intellectual discussions that he and Boston regularly maintained when they gathered at the municipal.
All three gentlemen had been curious about his background before he had returned to Rose Creek, and he had provided them with most of the details of his varied activities...most, anyway.  They really had no idea how he had really made his money or sustained his interest in life.  Indeed, they had no idea that he really didn't need any money at all.  He was, as he liked to comment to his imaginary friend, set for life.