Three suitcases were stacked to Maynard’s right. They were full, and tilting back, leaning against the wall. They looked like a breath or two would make them tumble.
To his left, Maynard had a row of newspaper stacks. Each paper was in its placed, organized chronologically. Some of the older ones were yellowing, but they were still readable. The row extended to the doorway, five feet away, and was about five feet high – just to Maynard’s chin.
Upstairs was now off limits. Maynard still had space, but the recent visit from the site engineer told him that the floor wouldn’t take any more weight. It was why the papers were on the main floor now.
The basement was also off limits, only because you could open the door and step on to the stuff stowed there.
Looking around, Maynard shook his head. My problem, he thought to himself, is a lack of space. I’m going to have to renovate again.
He walked to the kitchen, and looked out on the back yard. Not much space left, but the shed was empty. Time, he knew, for some work.