Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
He tried not to overthink having to celebrate his big four-zero on his own and hopped into the truck, heading straight for the vast junkyard he called home.
It took twenty minutes to reach it from the nearest town, which, on paper, wasn’t always good for customers. Fortunately, most of Frank’s business was conducted off the books, and the remote location was not a hindrance to those who valued discretion above all else.
Frank liked the quiet of the woods around his tall fence. He liked that every single person who shared this place with him was a friend. And that it was his. It gave him a sense of security about the future but also allowed him to be generous to those who mattered. He’d given bits of the land to friends, who then built houses of their own, and knowing he had the means to help them out was a source of pride. Dex’s departure left a hole in Frank’s home, but Shane and Jag worked with him daily, providing all the companionship he needed.
He passed the gate and drove between familiar piles of metal, wood, and unsorted items. He was dog-sitting for Ros and Shane, so he wouldn’t even spend the night at his own home. The brief idea of bringing a guy here had just been a pipe dream.
He missed sex. That was all. Maybe he could hook up with someone after the upcoming Strongman competition, because it drew the right crowd. Or maybe he’d go to a bar in Pittsburgh once he was done sorting the new pile of old cars on the western side of the junkyard. Shouldn’t take more than a few months.
Shane and Ros’s home looked like an unexpected transplant from the suburbs with its neatly painted walls and a garden featuring fruit trees and fantastical sculptures Ros had created out of junk.
Frank had an ex who'd wanted to transform Frank’s place into something of that nature, but all that was left of that attempt now was a no-longer-white picket fence Frank had no heart to tear down.
The interior of Shane and Ros’s place was just as creative, and while filled with patterned furniture and Ros’s experimental sculptures, it didn’t feel cluttered the way Frank’s house had become. He was grateful Shane had offered to host the party at his place, because Frank’s was a bit of a pigsty right now. Dex used to handle a lot of daily chores as part of his job, and even though he was disorganized and needed stuff repeated to him, he got shit done, which freed up Frank to deal with other things. Now, it was all on his shoulders, and when faced with the choice between tidying up and resting after a hard day, Frank always chose the latter.
As Frank put the groceries into the fridge, its pristine state reminded him how much he needed to clean his own. Doing the dishes or scrubbing the bathroom felt so irrelevant when he lived on his own. Who cared anyway?
Ros and Shane had taken their herd of trained Rottweilers to the event but left the two older dogs they’d adopted from a shelter a few months back. A white Pittie named Hera was an absolute sweetheart, but her friend, Eros, was an unholy Husky mix that looked like a Welsh Corgi dressing up as a wolf for Halloween. And he humped any leg in sight. They both greeted him with the level of enthusiasm only dogs could have for a man who largely ignored them, worried he might start wanting a pet of his own if he wasn’t careful. Still, when they’d joined him on the sofa last night, he didn’t have the heart to chase them off, and he absolutely did wake up with Eros at the feet of the bed this morning. But it was too early to let himself rest, so he let out both dogs into the garden and got to work. He usually kept the thick ledger in a hidey-hole close to his own place, but knowing he'd have some time, he'd brought it here.
Best to keep creative accounting a hundred percent analog.
Frank was about to start the tedious task when he was disturbed by a rhythmic knocking on the door. Jag’s secret code.
This was going to be a long evening. “Come in!” he yelled from the sofa.
Jag dashed in with a wide smile on his tanned face. It didn’t escape Frank’s attention that there was a plastic Captain America shield attached to the front of his wasteland survivor outfit. It would have been a lie if he claimed that Jag had really changed since coupling up, but he definitely smelled nicer than he used to, and his hair was combed every day, since his boyfriend had way better means of convincing him that it was important. It only made sense that elements related to Dane’s comic book hobby had started finding their way into Jag’s self-made wardrobe too.