Once upon a time in my home town, I lived across an old, odd man named Olaf. I never knew of Olaf's last name, but he was a fishy, smelly, odd and grumpy looking man, he had greasy brown hair, balding in the middle, with a droopy, brown set of handlebars running down his face, a scrawny, boney face. He was a lanky structure but had some muscle on him. Everyday, he'd go into his barn and work on something, nobody knew of what it was, nobody asked him, myths and legends said that anybody that had seen his projects were never seen again. I was still dying to see what was in that barn.