As the old, historical, head turning car rumbles into the driveway, it retraces the familiar tread marks of the tires it has painted onto the concrete hundreds of time before. The faded panels of the door, with white paint chipping off like unmoisturized skin, struggle to open on the old rustic hinges. The unoiled ball bearings in the wheels cause metal to turn against metal amplifying an unpleasant high pitch squeal, like an unturned electric guitar. The intense white beams of the headlights illuminate the opening garage ahead.

An older gentleman swings open the door of the car and steps out onto the driveway, wearing recognizable attire that people of the town knew him for. An old navy blue Boston Red Sox baseball cap sits atop his head, streaked with white sweat marks along the sides, representing the long hot summers that have been worked through. Old, well worn, brown dry leather boots protect his feet, bought for him over 15 years ago by his loving wife. He wears a pair of faded Wrangler denim jeans, stained with black greasy finger marks from years upon years of hard work. Dozens of colorful and creative logos appear on the back of his white, dingy, stretched out t-shirt, representing the companies who sponsor the many events he has attended and been a part of. After locking his car, he slowly approaches his desk. A neat and organized desk sits in the middle of the room. In the center of the desk, a shiny white metallic laptop sits, equipped with the latest technology. A large white desk calendar sits to the left of the laptop, the dates of meetings, and neat, organized handwriting fills each day of each month with important memos. A jar full of black and blue inked pens sits beside the calendar. No desk phone is needed, for a wireless phone sits atop the calendar, receiving calls and messages, leaving the user frantically responding. A small and slender desk light brightens the workspace.

But this is not the desk that the old man works at. In fact, the desk he sits at appears to be the opposite but serves the same useful purpose. His desk was not purchased at an expensive, overpriced furniture store; it was handcrafted, and designed by his own means of perfection. The smell of wood infuses the room hinted with the scent of gasoline. The vision of a neat and organized desk appears on the television which rests on the small wooden shelf above his desk. The small television does not project color; only a black and white picture can be seen and the muffled sound can be heard in the background. A thick white cable runs along the wall up to the unit, and a set of rabbit ear antennas retrieve the signal for the fifteen channels that are broadcasted daily. No organized calendar is needed, for the man has no meetings to attend to. No phone numbers are programmed into a phone, they are written in thick black ink on the wall beside the desk, alongside a large corded phone. An unorganized stack of envelopes is piled on the side of the desk, sent by retirement companies, for which the man has no interest in opening and therefore ignores it. No jar is needed to put pens in, they are scattered amongst the clutter in organized chaos. The remaining space on the desk is occupied by an arrangement of old tools and automobile parts. Making the old red craftsman tool box almost pointless. Any other person would be flustered among the chaos, but for the old man, the exact use and location of each tool is known, all working together in harmony, like each instrument producing a beautiful symphony. Some tools used more than others, most covered in rust, but all of them are essential, like the many brushes and paints of a talented artist. An empty brown cardboard paper towel roll sits beside the tools along with a brand new roll, used to wipe the man’s tired and filthy, dirt covered hands. Empty beer and soda cans sit amongst the cluttered items. The sight of the cans urge the man to drink yet another one to add to the collection. The three walls of the room are plastered with dozens of pictures and old newspaper clippings, reminding the man of the many memories he has made. Some pictures show old projects that have been completed and sold, while other pictures are of the many shows and events he has attended to show his great work and talent. However, the majority of the pictures on the wall show his family and friends who he loves dearly. It is his favorite part of the space, and reminds him of the Halcyon days and the important things in life. The pictures hang in old crooked frames, some of which have cracked class, but this does not bother the man. Behind the man stands his canvas with his latest painting, bringing his creation and imagination to life. However this canvas is not like the rest, it rests on four wheels and is made of steel. Pieces to the puzzle scatter the floor, and have yet to be assembled for the final product. Nuts and bolts roll around and get lost in the cracks of the concrete floor. There is no rush for this project, the ideas are well thought out, and the work is done slowly and precisely. When the work is finally complete, the car will shine and the many horses under the hood will sing. For the man, his garage is his therapy, his place to escape the world, and the place where his thoughts and ideas can escape his mind and into his car. His desk is the way he wants it, and the memories on the walls remind him of the things and people that are important in life. This garage is home to the man.