The room Sam looked into was dark. He searched for the light switch. Found it. Three lamps, situated around the room, shone with a yellow tint. The aroma of whiskey floated up from the carpet. Sam looked around.
A bed at one end and a desk at the other. A window with curtains pulled shut, blocking out the dark—a stain on the carpet. Model airplanes suspended from the ceiling. Flying.
Sam pulled a chair out and sat down at the desk. He set his whiskey on a coaster, stained. The pieces of a model covered the rest of the desktop. Edges touching but misaligned. A starting layer of dust covered all the plastic parts. Sam leaned forward and blew on the pieces. A gritty cloud lifted, and he swept it away with his hands. He grabbed a half-used tube of super glue from the left drawer.
Sam held a part pointed at one end, fins covering the other. He applied glue to the space between the two fins and set the tube down. He picked up a fin and held it in the glue. He counted to sixty. Letting go of the fin, he set the part down to dry.
Sam’s eye went to the top half of a wing. He picked it up along with another, similar one. He pressed them together. He set the smaller piece down and looked through the parts on the desk. He got up. A piece had fallen behind the desk. It was small and circular. He looked at the bed.
There was a part, half under the floor-length duvet. Stepping over, Sam reached for the piece—it resisted. He tugged, and it was free. He sat back down at the desk. He drank whiskey, then grabbed the super glue.
