On the corner of Union and 7th there’s a man who sells jewelry made out of antique spoons. His table’s chock-full of bracelets, broaches, rings, and such. He’s been doing it for years. Our friend rarely sells anything but he finds comfort in the fact that he spends his days doing what he loves which, he often says, is more than most folks can say. Hard to argue with that.
Just last week another man set up a stand on the opposite corner of the street. This guy sells spoons made out of antique jewelry. Our friend has noticed him over there but hasn’t acknowledged him as of yet. He often fantasizes about walking over there and flipping over that fucking table, spilling and scattering his gaudy, overpriced spoons across the sidewalk. But for now he bides his time, minds his own table, and wonders if this apparent adversary is a cruel, yet fleeting encumbrance or the beginning of the end - the rapture manifest.
zeroth life lesson: don't let your fantasies hijack your dreams lest madness set in.
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