Garage Sale. Saturday.I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills. A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch, some plastic daffodils. The cutlery and coffee cups I stole from all-night restaurants, a sense of wonder only slightly used a year or two to haunt you in the dark. For a phone call from far away with a "Hi, how are you today?", and a sign recovery comes to the broken ones. A wage-slave forty-hour work week weighs a thousand kilograms. So bend your knees comes with a free fake smile for all your dumb demands. The cordless razor that my father bought when I turned 17, a puke-green sofa, and the outline to a complicated dream of dignity. For a laugh, too loud and too long. For a place where awkward belong, and a sign recovery comes to the broken ones.to the broken ones.to the broken ones. For the broken ones. "Or Best Offer."