There’s a long room that is used only for storage and pacing. When I say pacing, I
mean walking up and down. It’s perfect for that.

He had some enjoyment in going through stuff that ended up in the room. Deciding
what to dispose of satisfied him. The kept things slice space inside the room and
block paths of draughts. They would fill a dictionary definition with filler words, if
this particular room in this particular house were to have a dictionary definition and if
the things were to be words.

There’ll be some problems with the placement of what is kept, but he plans for that.
Every day the tapping of a stick held by a blind man can be heard from the long room.
The dragging and pushing of leggy objects inside the room can be heard from way
down the road.

There’s a burial space booked, a deposit paid, for every kept object and the sound
each one creates. Until his death, he’ll be overdrawn and busy deciding on what to
keep.

If a stranger sees the room or the objects inside it, there is a risk of decay.
Solid materials become almost immediately furry and useless.

On a particularly still day, Lloyd, who owns the house, walked around with a long
head. He spoke to strangers and he frightened them. Once he spoke to enough people
the room’s length shortened, but it looked better. It looked less scary now.