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Story two, Best Buddy.

I yank my hand back and stick my thumb in my mouth as I drop the soldering iron on the table, having burnt the crap out of myself, again.

Some other bitch.

I growl as the pain starts to dissipate.

Pulling my thumb from my mouth, I glare down at the quickly forming blister.

I sigh and look up at the ceiling, pushing back from my workbench.

I'm getting real tired of this.

I unplug my soldering iron and tidy up the mess I've made these past few hours out in the garage.

Then I glance at my watch.

Still got time, I say, and walk over to the wall, clicking the garage door opener.

As the big door slowly slides up, I open the door into our kitchen, reach in, and grab my car keys and wallet from the basket on the kitchen counter.

Hey, hon, I'm going to Radio Shack.

Be right back.

Are they even open?