Going to a Party

Joe sat down at the desk and brushed off the various maps and books that littered it. He opened a drawer and pulled out some stationary.

Felicitations on your nuptials!

Joe crumpled the piece of paper and threw it away. "Who says nuptials anymore? C'mon old man. Think!"  He pulled out a new sheet of paper.

Congrats on getting hitched!

"Too much," he said scratching out what he had written and putting the pen down. He tapped his temple pensively, the muscles of his finger making a faint noise like the stretching of a guitar string.

Joe's eyes wandered around the room, taking in the workbench, the wardrobe, finally resting on the pictures on the wall above his bed. He walked over to them, his attention transfixed on an old black and white photo of a couple on their wedding day.

He took it off the wall, kissed it, and tucked it into his coat. He turned off the light, and locked the door behind him.

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

Tonight's project was a table.

Last night's project was a rocking horse. He liked working on the rocking horse but it was painted and delivered and the table wasn't going to fix itself. He surveyed the gash in the table. It was pretty deep. It probably wouldn't sand out. He fingered the scar in the table as he looked at the shelves that lined the room. He picked up a box of wood putty and read the instructions. He looked at the table, then reread the instructions.

He filled in the crack, then got dressed to go out. It was going to take a couple hours to cure, and he had errands he could run in the meanwhile. "Butcher block next time," he said to himself. He turned off the light and locked the door behind him