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As always, Irene
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An evening with a hobbyist
When you are hanging from the ceiling, more like pasted against it, you tend to think about the foolishness of reading too much. After all, our hero thinks, if I had not been reading I would not have gotten this dumb idea. If I had not been reading, I would not be in this predicament.
He looks up at the scuffed red head of a ball peen hammer lying on the workbench lined up directly with the bridge of his nose. “When that lets go,” he mutters, “I’ll be in for it.” For the nonce, he forgets that the workbench is in a perfectly normal attitude; at least relative to everything else in the garage.