Pack pack pack. If I could get a job that involved the accumulation of crap, particularly crap that would in time prove to be nothing more than a novel way to occupy space, I'd never be poor again. Some of these things I own have an actual purpose, though the appearance of that purpose is rare and thrilling, like happening upon a pod of whales. I
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I might be moving to Detroit later this year, and I fear the packing. The hundreds of 16mm films, the midcentury Frigidaires, the mannequins, they fear the packing, too.
If you figure out how to make money just accumulating crap, please let me know.
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seattle was fun, but free of invisible cocks.
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Trust me, the cocks were only lurking nearby.
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