In the frozen wastes of Wisconsin, where winter has lasted for the past 274 years, there is a place in the tundra far from prying eyes. The only clue as to its existence is a small chimney, barely visible above the snowline, sometimes, that occasionally emits a small trail of smoke.|
One man has managed to find this place. Inside are parts, gizmos, doodads, machines of all kinds, automata, and memorabilia of a dozen lifetimes. Tools line the benches and tables, and the floors like stars in the sky. The host is a large man, bearded, with the smell of sausages and venison on his breath. He laughs often.
His visitor gestures at a long row of hinges on the table to his left.
"I have to ask-why do you have 45 of the exact same hinge?"
"Look closer," the large man replies. "Each one of them has a different number of scratches near the screw holes...and I have to catalogue them all!"
The large man may be possessed of a kind heart, but sanity is not his strong point.
*Welcome to Fred's Workshop*