Junkman

Tom was a junkman.

Tom wasn't a junkman.

Tom isn't a junkman.

Tom is a junkman.

He's a junkman.

He was leaving behind his few ruined sticks of furniture—a junkman had wanted to be paid to take them—and two sets of cracked dishes, also unsaleable, that Shmuel could do with whatever he wanted—use, ax, or fire—they were worth nothing.

It’s the call of the junkman from his horse-drawn cart, a vestige of British culture in the pre-electronic days.