Isaac pointed: “There’s another building back there that’s in better shape.”

“I can’t wait.”

Isaac walked ahead; Poe was in a foul mood and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

They followed a deer path that led through the meadow. They could see the smaller building beyond the main factory; half- hidden in the trees, it was dark and shaded. Or sheltered, he thought. A brick building, much smaller than the main plant, the size of a large garage, maybe, the windows boarded but the roof was intact. It was mostly grown over with vines though there was a clear path leading to it through the grass. The rain swept over them and they began to run and when they reached the building Poe shouldered the door. It swung open without any trouble.

It was dark inside but they could make out it had been a machine shop, maybe a dozen lathes and milling machines. A gantry and series of grinder stands for cutting tool bits, though the grinders themselves were missing and the lathes were missing their chucks and cross- feeds, anything a person could carry. There were empty bottles of fortified wine scattered everywhere, more beer cans. An old woodstove and signs of recent fires.

“Jesus H. Christ. Smells like about ten bums are taking a dirtnap under this floor.”

“It’ll be alright,” said Isaac. “I’ll get a fire going so we can dry off.”

“Look at this place, it’s like Howard Johnson’s for bums; stacks of wood and everything.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Please,” Poe snorted, “you’re a fuckin tourist, is all.”

Isaac ignored him. He knelt in front of the stove and began to build a careful fire structure, tinder and then kindling and then stopping to look for the right- sized sticks. Not the best place but it’ll do. Better than spending the rest of the day in wet clothes. This is what it’ll be like being on the road, prioritizing the small comforts—simple life.