He hides everything in boxes stacked along the inside walls of the garage
and the rafters.There are no windows. Sometimes there are noises, banging. The yard has a chain-link fence, and his two large dogs pace a mud path into what was once grass. He mutters. isn't one for talk. Doesn't have a wife, works alone. Waits for the cold. Waits for night, his thick fingers uncoiling wire, reviewing plans, considering space, adds a new body to his collection. Watches cars stop from every direction, in a blaze of Christmas lights: Peace, Love, Hope, and his new Santa waving.
D.M. over 8 years ago
'Tis the season...
Rodindeadpan over 8 years ago