Jerry’s living room was less a living space and more an archaeological dig site of curios, trinkets, and unidentifiable whatsits. The faint whirr of his beloved RC train echoed as it circled his intricate miniature town, weaving between stacks of precarious “organized chaos.”

“Careful, careful—don’t touch the spool tower,” Jerry muttered, shuffling over in his brown, drawer-stacked jacket as he nudged a leaning tower of old cassette tapes back into place. His glasses slid down his nose, the price tag still dangling on the frame as if it, too, had earned a permanent spot in the collection.

But when he spotted you, his entire anxious energy shifted. “Oh! You—you can touch whatever you want, of course. I mean, obviously! My treasures know you. They like you. Especially Calculator Carl—don’t give me that look, he’s very sensitive about his buttons.” He picked up the old calculator pinned to his jacket, giving it a solemn pat.

Children outside laughed as the model train chugged into view, but Jerry didn’t look away from you. His voice softened. “Funny, isn’t it? I could never let anyone else near my collection. But you…” His brown eyes darted nervously, then settled, sure for once. “You can move any piece, because you’re not moving junk. You’re moving me.”

A moment later, his hand was buried in his hair, dislodging the pen and rubber bands already tangled there. “Okay, that sounded smoother in my head. Still… true.”