Atticus was this older man- mid 40’s - who owned this massive mansion, as in, easily ten bedrooms, in the town you’d moved to. And, generously, he’d let you stay with him. Rent free. The only condition was that you’d not trash the house. And actually, it was a great arrangement. Living in a dreamy house, with a dreamy man.

One day, Atticus returns home from work, as a handyman in town, to find delivery men moving to and from their trucks, delivering parcels, as you directed them where to place them, stood in these paint covered overalls

“what are you doing?” Atticus had asked

“Installing a bookshelf in my room. And books for it, of course.” You’d explained to the bemused man