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)
“You live with him, you mate with him, you make him food. He protects you, provides for you, and claimed you as his own.” Jag was now looking at Ezra as if he was the one who needed things explained to him slowly.
Ezra’s heart felt tight, as if someone held it in a fist.
“Life isn’t always this straightforward. I wish it was, but it’s not,” he mumbled and took his new jacket off the hanger to protect himself from the cool air.
Jag put the items chosen by Ezra back into his leather pouch. “People make things unnecessarily complicated themselves. Wear boots, it could get muddy.”
“It gets complicated when you need more than just shelter and a bit of food,” Ezra said, following his suggestion.
Jag flashed him a smile and winked. “Of course. You need sex as well.”
That wasn’t what Ezra meant, but he let it go and led the way outside. “I know Dane has more things. A TV, three gaming consoles, two different computers.”
Jag straightened with pride and started walking at a quick pace. “Yes, I provide anything he needs.”
To be fair, it was Dane who had a real job in IT, but if Jag got paid for the “treasures” he brought Frank, then he indeed contributed. Who was Ezra to enlighten him about the realities of capitalism when Jag lived in the world of barter?
When Jag turned onto a small path where Ezra had been specifically told not to go, Ezra stopped in his tracks.
“Are we allowed…? I mean, Frank told me it’s not safe to go there.”
Jag waved his hand. “It’s safe if you’re with me. I’ll show you what to look out for. Frank is overcautious. The junkyard is filled with adventures if you know how to navigate it.”
Ezra hadn’t looked at the surrounding mountains of trash that way before, but Jag was like a kid about to show him his den. And that was kind of exciting. Ezra hadn’t played this way for ages, always afraid of what someone would think of him, of getting dirty, or having an unflattering picture taken.
None of those things mattered here, so after a moment of hesitation, he followed Jag into the unknown. At one point, Jag lifted an old mattress laying on its side, revealing a passage leading to a parallel path. It made Ezra feel like a kid again.
They chatted about Jag’s favorite spots to source the treasures for Frank, but while hidden away behind an old truck with rust eating up its entire side, the container that turned out to be their destination was only a short walk from Frank’s home.
The doors were locked with a padlock, but Jag climbed to the top of the container and, moments later, leapt off with a key in hand. The storage unit was open in less than a minute, and when Jag switched on the flashlight left inside, lighting up three rows of metal shelves filled with boxes and loose items alike, Ezra felt as if the ground was about to crumble under his feet. Because What. The. Fuck?
“Is that…?”
“Dane calls it Aladdin's Cave.” Jag opened the other side of the door from the inside, letting in more light, and Ezra was sure he spotted glimmers of silver and gold all around. There were also whole sets of dishes that looked antique, and even a crystal chandelier tucked into the very back of the compartment.
“Oh my god—” Ezra’s breath caught when he picked up an elongated art deco sculpture. He knew this style, because one of his former clients was a vintage car fanatic, and hood ornaments like this one could fetch quite high prices, if one knew where to sell them.
It was Aladdin’s Cave indeed.
He was so stunned by the wealth of items around him that his voice came out high in pitch. “Why didn’t Frank sell any of this?” Is he a hoarder? Came to Ezra’s mind, but he doubted Jag would understand that concept.
“He does sell things when he has the time, but usually only those he already knows the value of. Things he needs to ponder or research or fix end up here. Though sometimes he just doesn’t have the time for them at all. Which is a shame,” Jag said with a sigh, picking up a porcelain Siamese cat.
Insanity.
Yet when Ezra thought he now had a chance to help Frank out with a task that likely overwhelmed him, determination burned deep inside him like a hot coal. “Maybe if we could sell some of this, Frank would get a bit of a break? Take some time off?” Ezra mused, trying not to get overly excited about the items. He didn’t yet know their value after all. But that wasn’t something the internet and a friendly pawn shop couldn’t fix.
He’d start by cataloguing things, starting with those items he recognized as easy sells—