Hendrik Mogul lives in a box and is happy as is.
Natural, box-making materials are his horizon. The four corners give Hendrik direction and order.
Choices. Send a toe into the west corner, thinks Hendrik, and he has new ease.
The smells of Hendrik and of his box are the smells of home. As Hendrik hums, a lilting rhythm resounds off the walls of his box and buoys him up. As Hendrik breaks into a carol, the box agrees with him, his back-up choir and tabernacle. Hendrik hugs humanity.
He doesn’t bother people.