Fragments of something larger? Whatever. If it was supposed to make sense to you, you’d understand it…

A squat block of quarried stone (one of thirty-eight) serves today as a table for a seller of (precisely) eight knobs of polished tin, four empty essence primers, eleven neatly tied bundles of steel blades, three cartons of powdered cinnamon, the dented left arm of a tinkerbot, sixteen hastily transplanted evergreen saplings in earthenware pots, a variety of used drinking vessels, a single brass fork, eleven draw-string bags filled with assorted gears and springs, and one single high quality lens (wider than a man’s hand) securely in the care of a portable safe box anchored to the stone.