Left to His Own Devices

Walking up the street, trying to warm my hands from the last recording, I hear the unmistakable sound of wood smacking against other wood. A dog in the distance is startled by something, beginning to bark endlessly, and the air wreaks of pumpkin pie. As I get closer to the noise, I see a rather tall warehouse like building with one wall removed. Either a lumber yard or perhaps just storage for a nearby company, a lone man works quietly with a cigarette as his only companion. The man looks at me and nods as I walk by, as he clearly is starting to be affected by the cold. His face is bright red from having been outside for so long, so I decide not to awkwardly hold the microphones in front of his face; Im sure his day has been hard enough. I round the corner and duck in an alley as I set up to record the sounds of the man working, walking to the ground not covered in snow to start up some vehicle to help move the piles of wood. The dog who was jostled before takes note of something else as the sound of metal clanks in the background.