Flounderlust

Matthew hiked a half mile from the Woodley Station, under an overcast sky, past the dingy apartment buildings, along the uneven sidewalk littered with junk food wrappers. With each step his heart broke a little.

When he got to the storage facility he couldn't get through the gate. The key they gave him was attached to a tattered piece of paper with the code to get in, but it didn't work. So he waited around until finally a truck pulled up and he slip streamed behind it through the gate.

In the labyrinth of the building he was on his own to find the locker. The paper said "0242." He took the stairs to the basement and followed the numbers until he got to the generic door. He put the key in the lock and opened the door. There were hundreds of boxes, neatly stacked and labeled, many more than he imagined there would be.

No light.

He squeezed in and began to snap pictures with the flash on his camera turned on. What would be the point of cataloguing all this shit? He figured they'd done without some of these things for more than two decades, he could have someone haul it all off to a dump or to be recycled and no one would know or care.