Valvecore

 Valvecore

Vinton Valvecore they winced when they heard his namme they thought it was a made up namme like Smith or Jones. They tried and failed to call him Vince or Vincent. Vinton he said it without a smile of any kind of size. He walked up and down the stone steps pushing his carraige carrying. He worked nearly all summer long anything he thought of that he wanted to save back for the winter he steered away into the ground around the Prestige House. He slept in the open field. Hiding in plain site a real depression in the area at night. He picked cans from the garbage sacked them up one by painful one until the sale would buy a can of beans he took them home to the empty potters field. NO one guessed the place was a secret dump the things lay hidden putrifing he had wrapped wonderful winter clothing inside plastic and plastic sweats in the desert at night it makes mold and mildew on the clothing at night on all the hidden secret things around the Prestige Carraige house. And then one day it happened to arrive. They backed a large truck down into the little lighted valley where he was trying to survive. They pulled up over the area where most of the clothing was buried and they dumped a load of wet cement. He tried a tunnel but there was no time he tried to break the thicknesses with a digging stick he lined the outer edges with loosener to no avail his winter riches now permament the local winoes still talk about Valvecore in hushed tones of concretion they shake the old heads and whisper Vinton.