Yamazaki had watched the old man’s hands as they touched each tool in turn, imagining he saw some momentary strength or purpose flow into them there, or perhaps only memories of tasks undertaken, abandoned, completed. "You can always sell tools," Skinner had mused, perhaps to Yamazaki, perhaps to himself. "Somebody’ll always buy ’em. But then you always need ’em again, exactly the one you sold." Yamazaki didn’t know the English words for most of the tools there, and many were completely unfamiliar. "T-reamer," Skinner said, holding up his fist, a rust-brown, machined spike of steel protruding menacingly between his second and third fingers. "Now that’s about as handy a thing as you can have, Scooter, but most people never seen one."