Unpacking memories (( The Lash's new appartment/ open rp ))

Its the worst kind of loft in a part of town where the dissaster of a impala seems right at home. Not so much grunge as industrial, where rusted hulks of walkways span the building, and someone using a swingline could easily get airborne.
Once a few stories up and past a few bits of grocery carts and some metal deco the steel iron door looks recently cleaned. Inside the loft the concrete floor has been swept and washed with a nearby fire hose, while trash and old work benches piled to another loft. The moving boxes, marked and stacked in patterns of piles wait for unloading in the distinct areas of the loft. One wall has new construction with stainless steel sinks, stove and oven. Other than that the barreness of furnature shows the recent arrival.
Heavy curtains have been hung on steel rings over windows and the light radiating around the loft comes from several, globe lamps hanging by chains from the ceiling. The couch in the center of the loft is horseshoed in large rubbermaid tups, like standing stones.
In the corner of the loft the bedding leans against the wall and beside it a large wooden cabnet who's doors nearly reach the ceiling.
Ken runs a hand through his long brown hair and sighs, sipping the wine from his glass and looking into the darkness of the open box.
"Somethings you don't want to unpack, but you need too." and reaching in pulls out the picture frames. From them friends and family look up and one by one he removes them and slides each into a transportable fire safe. A few he puts to the side with sad smile. Men and woman wearing leather vests, kneeling and sitting at benches and one lovely picture of a younger Ken standing over a wooden rack and a womans nude body.
The last thing from the box is a heavy binder from which paper in sleeve protectors slip and tumble. Old pages from books, with french script and index cards of translation. All of this he puts to the side.
"One more load from the van and then well get the bed assembled." He speaks clearly looking up into the rafters. The handle of the Lash descends from where it hangs out of the light. Leather straps carressing him as it coils itself around his belt. He puts the large leather vest on, hiding it and heads out and down the stairs. There the moving van waits with the last few boxes. He unlock the door and rolling it up climbs up and in to load the dolly with boxes.