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Cleanup in Aisle D
Tracy: wings
wafflestories



“Kid?”

The darkness under the shelf was absolute. Every wall in this quiet, warm, endless place was lined with storage of every kind, racks and drawers and hooks and pigeonholes and cubbyholes, slots and shelves and pull-out cabinets and stacking units on long, trundling tracks. Almost every inch of available space in this narrow little corridor, from the dusty floorboards to the low ceiling, was crammed with boxes and bottles, tubes and crates, jars and tins and stacks of yellowed paper, filling the dim-lit warrenlike space nearly to bursting.

“Kid, don't take this the wrong way, but you are screwing up my filing system. It's a complex thing I've got going here, it needs careful management. You can't just throw yourself in anywhere and hope you'll fit.”


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