CHAPTER SEVEN
He thought of himself as a survivor. And this place, this home he had made for himself, was testament to things that survived.
The floor creaked beneath him as he moved across the old, worn floorboards. Part of his home had once been an outhouse. Another part a repurposed shed. And now, it was his estate.
In one corner of the room was a coffee maker that had been discarded. It worked perfectly fine. They simply hadn't understood the wiring.
In another part of his small space, there was a workbench. Half the bench had been made from discarded lumber. But a little bit of time, and elbow grease, and he'd resurrected this as well.
An ornate chandelier, with a few of the dangling, glass baubles missing, illuminated his place. This also had been found discarded. Refuse redeeme
