A splintering crate of myriad mechanisms --- doohickeys, gizmos, whatchamacallits, thingamajigs, the whole ordeal --- constructed from the fruits of your factory filching. It’s taken ages for you to accumulate such a primer array of doodads, many restless nights have been spent fretting over the thought of losing them. The vast majority of the things don’t really do much, but you find great joy in assembling them. Something about spinning dainty, little cogs around your fingers as you piece together such arbitrary dribble calms the appetitive wig which pesters your brain --- just for a moment.

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