A Short, Sweet Dream

Working somewhere on my own, I was taking parts in. All were in so-so shape, but generally light and small. Nothing about the parts spoke to their purpose or where they would end up; most were flat pieces of metal half the size of a sheet of paper.

I’d inspect and clean the parts, then buff and polish them to a high gleam, finally matching them together to ensure they fit. Most were red or blue on one side, and bare and shiny, chrome-like, on the reverse. Then the parts were gone. This was as expected in a way, without a transition of wondering where the parts were, or a segue of giving them to another. I’d find and continue with more parts.

This went on for a bit. I was happy. The boss man came by, big, in a clean, fine suit, imposing, an unlit cigar for a prop. “Customers came by,” he said. “They’ve very pleased with your work.”

That pleased me. “Great. That’s so wonderful to hear.”

“What are you doing to them?”

He seemed honestly curios.

I was as honestly perplexed. “I’m just cleaning them up, making sure they’re in good shape, and making sure they fit together.”

The boss man nodded. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

“I will,” I replied. “I will.”

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