Don’t worry. They’ll line up to tell you. With their blankets, tarps, sleds. Something to drag all the weight.
I never thought I’d be one of these guys says every one of these guys. It starts with one little object. What could be the harm? It fits in your pocket. Then there are no more pockets. Can’t throw out what’s in the pockets because what if you need them now that they’ve become so familiar.
Every new talisman and artifact becomes impossible to discard and then the problem of carrying it all. If any of them were lost, everything would go to hell. Sure, they have different collections, but so what? It’s all just people coming and going. Our inner machinations are our only real company. And this is supposed to mean something.
Surely, there’s a profound lesson to be learned or a moment of subtle grace in the face of it all. No. He pulls some piece of scrap off his filthy quilt to show you like it could possibly mean anything to anyone else. You search for appeasing words and settle on a smile.
Thank you very much, yes. It’s not worth much, but then what is? Sad, pathetic. How could someone end up like this? And then you wake up one morning. Your hand clutching something you cannot release.