Smoke Five

At 9am the crates arrive, secure and solid packed, eight of them in all, one for each room, with two more for the loungeroom. The delivery scanner nods briefly when I open the screen door to him, and we unpallet the load together without further comment. When he leaves I farm the boxes out to their rooms and they sit there, claiming ownership. The record collection, the books, the players. I take down the door separating the loungeroom from the hall and place it on two trestles, again courtesy of that shed. No lights to speak of, though my PCB glows restlessly in its cradle, awaiting power-up. Things power up around noon. The rain doesn’t stop. At about the time we’d usually be having lunch, I run down to the Korean convenience store, warm and full of the scent of steamed buns, coffee and sugar. I’m buying a couple of energy tonics, some hydrated milk and espresso explosions and an umbrella, making the walk home more pleasant. I set my little bed up at the back of the loungeroom.

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