New Foxxinnia
28-04-2005, 04:03
It was Sunday morning. A thick fog was over the city as drizzle came from above. It was around 7:10 AM and while most are still sleeping I was not. I was at my Self-Storage on 103th St. looking through my things I don't want to throw away, but don't want in my house.
The fog was a dim red with the whiskers of early morning sunlight, but it was still too dark to drive without the lights on high. My car sat humming 20 feet away fitted comfortably under a small maple tree.
The storage was like most. Old wood tables, large, cumbersome toys, and boxes. Many, many boxes. There were no cobwebs because the owner had spent a few hundred dollars on some device that makes the spiders go away. Some of the cardboard boxes were already getting damp from the high humidity. I reached for the light switch, flipped it, and the concrete room was illuminated.
I began randomly opening boxes searching for forgotten treasures or keys. I needed those keys. The ones that opened almost every box in my toolshed. In fact it opened up the toolshed. I found primarily TY Beenie Babies in the first box. And also the second and third. Those would be good for sale on EBay. The fourth box I opened was an ammo cache filled with empty bullet shells from an unsuccessful Duck Hunt in British Columbia.
For around another half hour, roughly, I rummaged through boxes finding old magazines and board games. Finally, I loaded everything worth having into the back of my Xterra, turned my Brooks & Dunn CD up to full blast, and took a beer out of a Igloo cooler I brought with me, and snapped it open and leaned on the moist aluminum siding that seperated my storage with the guy's next to mine as the fog and drizzle sat doctile around me. Faintly, I heard the 7:47 Amtrak from Portland coming into Union Station on South Jackson Street. My wife was going to be upset and confused that I'm not going to be there to pick her up.
The fog was a dim red with the whiskers of early morning sunlight, but it was still too dark to drive without the lights on high. My car sat humming 20 feet away fitted comfortably under a small maple tree.
The storage was like most. Old wood tables, large, cumbersome toys, and boxes. Many, many boxes. There were no cobwebs because the owner had spent a few hundred dollars on some device that makes the spiders go away. Some of the cardboard boxes were already getting damp from the high humidity. I reached for the light switch, flipped it, and the concrete room was illuminated.
I began randomly opening boxes searching for forgotten treasures or keys. I needed those keys. The ones that opened almost every box in my toolshed. In fact it opened up the toolshed. I found primarily TY Beenie Babies in the first box. And also the second and third. Those would be good for sale on EBay. The fourth box I opened was an ammo cache filled with empty bullet shells from an unsuccessful Duck Hunt in British Columbia.
For around another half hour, roughly, I rummaged through boxes finding old magazines and board games. Finally, I loaded everything worth having into the back of my Xterra, turned my Brooks & Dunn CD up to full blast, and took a beer out of a Igloo cooler I brought with me, and snapped it open and leaned on the moist aluminum siding that seperated my storage with the guy's next to mine as the fog and drizzle sat doctile around me. Faintly, I heard the 7:47 Amtrak from Portland coming into Union Station on South Jackson Street. My wife was going to be upset and confused that I'm not going to be there to pick her up.