Once-ler was tearing up his office. He needed to find those papers. He had ordered them to be on his desk by the time he came back from the factory, and they weren't. All he knew was that they were some where in his office, and he needed them soon.
His desk's contents were now all sitting on his chair, and all the papers from the file cabinet were on the floor. There was one place left to look. The closet.
It was packed with junk, old things he no longer liked, trash and similar stuff. When he wanted something out of sight, into the closet it went.
Despite knowing the likelihood of the papers being in the closet was slim, he decided to check anyways. He shoved stuff behind him as he moved forward in the small space. Just when he was about to turn and leave, something caught his eye. It was some black cloth, next to some black metal, that was all he could make out due to the rest of it being obstructed by trash. He quickly shifted the trash out of the way, and was surprised at what he saw. Not only did he see his old hat, but he also saw his beat-up guitar.
He remembered when he got each of them. He had found the hat at a secondhand store as a kid, and even though it wasn't in the best condition he wore it everywhere. And the guitar was a gift he got for his fourteenth birthday.
Once-ler took off the large hat that was on his head, and looked around to make sure no one was watching. When he was positive the coast was clear, he grabbed his old hat and set it on his head. He liked this hat more than his new one. It was comfier, he had good memories involving it, and it felt lighter on his head.
Then he turned to his guitar. It was in bad condition, with faded black paint and scratches and dents all over it. Playing a few notes on it though, it sounded just as good as his new twelve string, if not better. He sat down on a small part of the closet floor that didn't have anything on it, and began to strum a simple tune, one of the many songs he had sung when looking for someplace to settle down.
Once-ler stayed there for several hours, playing his guitar and thinking over some memories, the search of the papers long forgotten. Around dusk, he heard someone call his name, and he quickly replaced his old hat with his new one and set the guitar down. He had left a clear path to the closet door, and exited, shutting the door behind him. He didn't want to be caught in there with that stuff. He was the head of a giant company, one of the most richest people in the world, it wouldn't be good for his image to be caught with a worn out hat and beat up guitar.
But sometimes, when his family was meaner than usual, the work day was particularly nasty, or things just seemed to be going wrong, he would find himself sitting on the closet floor, playing a cheerful tune and wearing his favorite hat.