Tuesday is furniture collection day at the Spaarndammerbuurt. They are placed at the corner of the street from 9 in the evening and are collected the next morning by the authorities. During this interval, interested and needy people go around the neighborhood looking for utensils that might be useful to them.  My grandparents live there since way before I was born and I consider the Spaarndammerbuurt my oldest home. Occupying too much space, my grandmother tried to sell or give my childhood bed away. As nobody wanted it, we had to put my old and dismantled bed at the corner. The awkward feeling of seeing my first bed and my eldest memories being discarded led me to photograph it, even if it was unrecognizable, as an attempt to keep it with me forever. After that night I kept doing the same movement, capturing - with a camera - all the furniture on the streets of my neighborhood that captivated me, but leaving them intact and respecting their own composition. I opted for a contrasty black and white, that brought these random compositions forward, while the still life framing constructed a narrative with the subjectivity of the objects . This new night routine also got me to interact with the people from the community. One night I learned that the furniture I was capturing belonged to a neighbor who had just passed away. I understand that each of these discarded objects tells its own hidden - or not - story. The relation between the domestic and the public memory is what intensifies the brief connection with these objects and the streets.