I was a collector of paper napkins, every day I used to go around picking them up, they were usually smeared with human saliva and scum fat of cheap food. I had twenty bags full in my garage, I stored them there since I have no car but like to mention that I have a garage. One morning when I entered to pick up the stick, with a nail in the end, the one I picked napkins with, the sacks had turned in to tired workmen resting after slaving long hours in the factory of hell. I opened the garage door they were free to go and I saw them vanishing into the morning glare. They had done their duty no more was excepted of them. From now on till rain came they were be free, dance with dust and leave and disappear on their own accord when time was right... My garage is empty now but the smell of sweat and struggle lingers with old jokes repeated a hundred times in workmen’s canteen.
