Nothing made Carl, the woodcutter, feel better about himself than a nicely stacked pile of wood. He had tried playing tetris a few times, and arranging the blocks correctly had some of the same appeal, but not nearly. With most ornagizing, it was the same things over and over again; stacked, restaked, and boring. Split wood, though, was always just a little different.
This was the totality of his world as he jammed a strangely shaped, knotted monstrosity into a divet he had allowed in the previos row. It slid into its groove with satisfying ease. He was pleased, then he was alert. He walked to the end of his trailer and hopped off onto the ground. He grabbed his axe from where he'd left it leaning against the trailer and then headed towards the shout.
"Hey there," he shouted back (probably around 20 seconds after the "Hello.") Then, Carl checked his breast pocket for his cigarettes with his free hand as he walked, out of habit. The axe swung leasurly at his side, gripped halfway up its wooden handle.
His headlamp made a glowing cone of raindrops in front of him.