The mention of the cabin turns Wrench's gaze briefly to the structure behind him. In the waning light, the glow from behind those large glass panes looks warm and welcoming. It's hard to tell there's absolutely nothing beyond it. Apart from the structure himself, Wrench hasn't gotten around to filling it up with any signs of life. He's never owned a couch or a bookshelf. Never spent any amount of time considering the tchotchkes he'd keep around if he had somewhere to store them. Not even in his wildest imagination has he been able to conceive of something he really wants to own.

Maybe, he weighs his hands as he walks down the length of the dock to meet the man near the opening to a little deck that hangs over the water. Might be nice, with some lightning over the mountains. He draws the ridge of the invented landscape and lets his hands mimic the flashes of light behind it. The mountains themselves aren't part of any specific memory; they're just a flourish Wrench has added to this place.

If the nameless introduction strikes Wrench as weird, he doesn't show it. Better that he doesn't, since his own name is the kind that's made more than one person ask him whether or not it's real. Wrench, he introduces, spelling it out rather than using the sign for the tool itself. I just finished imagining this all. Might have taken too much space, but it's mostly just nature.