Everything shifted. The weight in Jack’s hand, the shadows and the light, the dust.
Jack inhaled, triggering a cough. The cough made his torso lurch forward, just enough for the scrap wood full of bent nails to strike him in the shoulder.
Particle board clattered to the cracked cement of the garage, some two by eights and some-who the-hell-knews.
He took a brief inventory, rubbed at his shoulder where one of the nails had scratched him on the way down.
Couldn’t remember the last time he had a tetanus shot.
Twenties, probably. Surprised he could remember anything south of thirty.
The dust still swirled, maybe some shreds of old insulation shoved in the corner, so he backed out of the garage.
Did they play in the garage as kids?
Nahh, his stepdad’s old Maverick had been in here, then that guy Tom had some Japanese motorcycles.It had mostly just been storage, maybe some occasional hide and seek.
Reggie promised that some bikes were behind the wood.
They were.
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