Theo extricated a portrait-sized picture frame from a pile of fragments like it and raised it to fit his face.
Nick was digging through a trunk that would have been a dress-up player’s dream. His attic was pretty much the place where everything outdated, outmoded, unused, or unusual went to die.
“It’s a good movie,” Theo protested, abandoning the frame in favor of unearthing another unlabeled cardboard box.
“You’re an inspiration to us all,” Nick assured him.
Nick clambered to his feet, rubbed at his itching nose, and picked his way through the intricate maze of discarded treasures to peer over Theo’s polo-shirt-clad shoulder.
“It’s a record player,” he noted, none too surprised and none too impressed.
“I thought they burned all of these in the Compact Disc Inauguration Ceremony of ninety-three,” Theo remarked.
“So you’re just me-ist,” Theo concluded.
Setting the knife down on a bookcase, Nick pried the flaps apart and peeked in.
“Guess what I just found,” he prompted.
“El Dorado, actually,” Nick corrected, hefting a dusty Pat Benatar album.
Theo considered, averted his head for a violent sneeze, and considered some more. “Why would anyone put Pat Benatar in the attic?” he wanted to know.
“Which we could have done anyway with an iPod and some speakers,” Nick pointed out, slipping Pat in amongst her brethren again.
“You’re the one who wanted to play in the attic with the black widows and the toxic mold,” Theo shot back.
“You’re the one who’s suddenly enjoying it,” Nick replied, hefting the box and moving for the ladder.