This is from a different part of the writing:
For the past six years, Totod Boober had spent the majority of his allowance, after excising the portion for tobacco, on books, model cars, and sprucing up his prison cell. The now-obsolete stars and stripes hung over his cot, which sat beside a plain metal end table, where a profusely organized array of plastic tires, rims, exhaust pipes -- the vital entrails of his model cars-- sat beneath a scorching lamp. A masterfully executed miniature reconstruction of a Chevrolet Admonisher sparkled lightly; the candy-coating gloss that had been glazed thinly across the body contained many millions of reflective bits of glitter. Totod hadn't used the stock gloss that came with the fifty-eight cylinder, fourteen foot long supercar, but chose to dip his flat-bristled brush in the shimmering topcoat that was packaged with his Steel Hellcat, a model of the famed fighter employed by the English during WWII. It sat eternally ready for take-off on a small shelf behind the table. A sky-blue mug sat beside it, filled with precision instruments for assembly and painting. The patience that Totod employed when making the rocket-propelled pipe bombs that struck the Sterileman and Sons law firm, killing forty four people, had been diverted to things decidedly more constructive.