Donations

 A briefcase years since a purpose. Bolts sprung skyward and the innards peeled from the backboards and organs of crushed aluminium beer-cans and sweetened vodka tonics. The lining rain-soaked with mold spores building green meadow homes fake and reeking by the roadside.  

 I had worked together with its owner a long time ago. He still wore the same suit. Pastel shirts with ties that matched his pocket-squares and a deep voice to correlate his height. The precious metal fillings with which he used to flash morning smiles had cracked when turned like a freshness seal on a plastic bottle. I carried them with the fistful of loose coins that came spilling from his pocket. 

 I will move another of my collection outside in the coming days. What the environment does and the story it tells are so much more interesting than keeping them fresh.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s