Butter
I wanted to build something—anything, really—and so I went to the hardware and building supplies store. I’ll need nails, a hammer, and a saw I said to the clerk. Building something, eh the old, little clerk said. Boy, you said it I said. I’ll also need a power drill, a set of ratcheting wrenches, and some heavy-duty bolts I said. Quite the project you’re undertaking, eh the clerk said, scrambling with the items as I called them out. Sledgehammer, circular chainsaw, level, power washer, carpet steamer, riding lawnmower, also I said, as the clerk ran from store-room to store-room, accruing each item and setting it by the counter by me. Electrical wiring, construction tape, aluminum siding, a Philips head screwdriver, ten thousand screws, ten thousand nails, a few combination locks, a brush with heavy bristles, and some dynamite would be handy, if you have it I called out. And enough wood to make a replica of a redwood forest. The little, old man, sprinted around, surprisingly nimbly, jumping from shelf to shelf, like an ape-like monster, like a gremlin, throwing each item to my feet, and I could have sworn that I heard him growling every once in a while. I’ll also need bricks, mortar, a cement mixer, maybe even a cement truck, a few tons of sand, red and blue paint, a wheelbarrow, steel piping, plastic zip-ties, stone floor tiles, shingles, and a good pair of work gloves. When he was finished collecting everything, I stood for a moment in complete awe, taking in all of man’s tools of creation, anticipating what wonders I could make. You must be building the ultimate thing the clerk said, huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth slightly, hands at each side of his head, holding it up in place. I must be I said.
