He is waiting.
The back room kept company. It is filled with heat and overhead lights. Tinnitus soundtrack. Ringing cut back by the staccato of the auctioneer outside. Ultraman is in the building.
Your mind is racing. Only a few more. Looking around. They end before you can think clearly. Animalistic response takes over where forethought was the driver not seconds before.
Can you afford it? Probably not. None of us are doing this for sanity. The inner voice is telling you to pull the trigger, press the gas pedal and meet your instant gratification with arms wide open.
The hammer falls, the book sweaty and the page gloss smells so much stronger.
And this was only one of many more to come.
The back room waits, the air conditioning thunders, and the cardboard permeates.
Ultraman is in the building tonight.