The garage/workshop was filled with wonderful trash. Four hundred ballpoint pens in sparkle plastic that didn’t work. Eight hundred heavy-duty industrial coffee filters. Thirty pounds of defective acrylic balls for making plastic flower arrangements. Two hundred dowels from the closed down building supply. A large box of dolls eyes from god knows where.
Every day he sat in his treasure trove and drank beer from the salvaged refrigerator. It was his place. It was quiet. It was safe. Some days he tinkered all day. He made three-cornered knick-knack shelves, cantilevered folding chairs, and napkin holders. These he made from patterns found in scavenged how-to magazines. Other times he would just make up things. Strange wind chimes, bizarre little doodads for the shelves, and goofy little figures.
Today he didn’t feel like making anything. He didn’t have to if he didn’t want to. So he opened his third beer and sat down at the rolled up garage door. It looked like it might rain. The air smelled wet. It was beginning to get hot. The beer was good and cold. The refrigerator purred smoothly in the corner.