Garages aren't for cars

This is the space where everything is in its place, where the crumbs get swept on the floor, where nothing has to fit or match, where things are just left lying where you left them. This is the place that's a bit cold and smelly, where oil is spilled, flammable liquids are mishandled, where thinking goes on. This is a place that has water balloons and matches, tools and bits of wood, things that don't work but could again, where sentences are long and rambling. This is a place where stuff finds a home, old stamp collections, skulls, maps and unloved pictures, half drunk water bottles, old amps and a box of electrical bobbins.
This is the Garage.