It’s sort of a melting pot for documents, dead batteries, and oddments. This drawer is the seedy district where squatters and riff raff hang out. Motorcycle spare parts, knives, pirated porn from when I was a lad, useless nail clippers, flea powder, they’re all in there. The drawers are closer to my bed than the trash can and infinitely more convenient.
Every few months, I re-organize everything but my room seems to be an epicenter for entropy. You should see my closets. It’s like Cambodia in there. (Or, as the Cambodians might say: it’s like the Philippines. And they would be right.)