The internet had killed the mail-order business and I was broke. I had to go back to Big Frank Metcalfe and beg for a job.
“You know I can’t use you David,” he said. “You’re a loose canon. A maverick.”
“I’ve changed,” I promised him. “No more fancy stuff. Nothing avant-garde. I hardly care about perfection at all these days.”
“You were the best railway modeller I’ve ever seen.”