I sweep the dust away from the drain and continue to sift through his things. So many things. Pieces of track and mini cars and houses to the Lionel train collection. A “for sale by owner” sign with his number still written across the front. A toilet paper roll hung from the ceiling, probably to blow his nose from saw dust or leaf clippings or the smell of house paint. So many extension cords I wonder how far he ever intended to go.
Staring into this shed, I see my childhood in a million pieces.
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