Pockets

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Pigger
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Pockets

Post by Pigger » Tue Mar 03, 2009 1:00 am

Here's a great assignment for school, just thought I'd share it's...not quite epicness.

On a normal day, today for example, I carry shit. Today I have a lot of shit. Some days I carry with me a hiking bag filled with even more. Today I just have my normal school bag and my jacket and pants, simple clothes with pockets. My jacket is my favorite. Eight pockets total, eight amazing pockets. Two hidden inside and six outside, four of them doubled together. In my jacket I have a list of things; a book for school, a little paper book of some local guys’ stories and dreams imprinted on paper, I’ve only read halfway through and looked at the pictures. I’ve got deodorant and a checkbook, along with, or so I had previously, some music and usage instructions for some drugs I was taking. That’s all one pocket, I guess there could be some lint or scraps of trash in there, but that’s less than the shit in my pockets, doesn’t exist for all I care. And here this was just one pocket, one of eight, oh the wonders…The pocket outside of the book filled one is empty, so that’s a quick story. I’ve got another, shockingly, on the opposite side of the jacket, oh my, a symmetrical jacket. This one shows I live in Minnesota, or at least somewhere cold. Equipped with some leather mitts and a hat, they keep the cold out, keep a bulge bigger than anything else in my jacket too. This one though, this pocket has something in the pocket outside of it. Underwear. A curious thing to bring underwear with me eh? Not really. Another pocket has socks in it. Old dirty socks. I had clean ones in that pocket before, but I had to change them, so now the old ones take residence, puffing my jacket further from my body, and they probably look funny to anybody who notices that I carry socks with me. I’ve got a hanky and pain pills in another pocket. The hanky is an old boy scout neckerchief; It’s a little funny because I’m currently an eagle scout, strange retribution for some useful but mostly wasted years possibly. Cory also sits in my pocket. He’s a friend of mine I met a year ago, now he is in spring form, like a slinky. He left school and I took a spring from him and that’s how I’ll always remember him, by the shit that takes up room in my pocket. Only two pockets left, the tour is almost over, saddening isn’t it? I’ve got a face mask in another, protection from the cold, or when I just want to look like a creeper. Beneath it I have an apple, don’t expect that to stay long though. Last pocket. Hair. I used to have a mohawk, but I got it cut off, I kept some of the sickly green-blue hair as a memento, yet now I’ve no clue what to do with it.
Now I’ve got pants. Not as exciting as a jacket, but neither is this story. My pants are always on me, usually. Four pockets, two front, two back, pretty standard right? Right. Pens, pencils, notebooks, all the things a writer needs, all compacted into two pockets. But that’s not even close to the end; I’ve got a broken iPod, a dead audio recorder, an empty wallet filled with shit, it’s contradictory, I know. I keep keys to a house that’s three hundred miles away, one for the garage too. Flash drives hug the keys just as uselessly, I guess they pull off being used more frequently though. Then I have hacky sacks. Not just a singular, no, that’d be preposterous, I have two. One in each front pocket, just in case, you never know when you might need two hacks; and I’ve got a phone.
    It’s sad really. I carry everything on me “just in case”. I took that whole boy scout motto too far. I am always prepared. Usually. Always prepared for physical situations at least. I’m never put in them though. Carrying everything with me is like overburdening myself, for the sake of what? I don’t have a room, so I figure that’s why, nope. I don’t always carry everything with me, so it’s half assed. It’s almost like I prepare for what will never come, and when that happens it’s like I can’t prepare for what will and does come. Maybe I’m just a crazy.

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