So I’m sitting there, thinking about my underwear. A few steps away is a giant chess board and a hot tub. In the evening I will be served large quantities chocolate cake, along with ice cream, for free. But it is about my underwear that I am thinking, when I finally ask myself: What’s the point? What’s the point of wearing a pair of underpants that are as much air as fabric? Underpants crowned with an elastic band that hangs off the fabric as limp as any one of you passed out on the toilet? HOW DO THEY EVEN STAY ON?
Static electricity, I assume, and in this sense, my underpants were a tiny daily miracle. Perfect static cling aside, the garment (recently washed (!)) was not dry when I was ready to leave, and so into the trash they went. One less pair of underwear to stick to my bum. It’s a cold train, to be sure. Everything must be worth its volume and weight. That’s why all those glass stones got abandoned in Spain.
Without constraints I can spend hours in a good used bookstore. Without constraints, I could probably live in one.
But on any given occasion you will eventually need to eat, or go to the bathroom, go to work, or go to class. And if you’re with people? They won’t want to stay as long. Not as long as me.
Then there is the matter of ‘opening hours’… Don’t think I never thought of turning into a mouse and sticking around after closing.
And so one day, well over a decade ago, I was out with a bunch of friends and we stopped in at one of those bookstores that had more books than shelving space. One of those wonderful places where, at the time, not everything was in order. Things were scattered, and piled, and everywhere.
There is no better place to dig for treasure.
Semi-Automatic Rifles were present on Commercial Drive on Car Free Day. They made a lot of people uncomfortable. What was the point?
You can be assured that, at least once, in the near or distant past, some quantity of cash was sucked under the conveyor belt…