Thursday, 21 August 2014

A Sticky Start

I bloody love sticks. Always have done. Here is a picture of me, aged 5 with one:

And here is a picture of me, aged 22 with one:

Between these two pictures, I aqquired a girlfriend, facial hair and height. I lost cuteness, hair colour and a duffle coat. The one constant is a stick.

I've met others, like me, usually male, who have grown up seeking out the best sticks whenever they go for walks. We cycle through up to a dozen each time, discarding them by the path when we find a bigger, more sturdy, sticker stick. Never happy. Always searching. 

Why? Beats me. Some say it's a phallic extension of the mind. I hope not. Others say its good support for a walk. I'm not convinced. 

Whenever and wherever I pick up a stick, I havent needed it. I just want it.

Perhaps science will one day be able to explain our attraction to them. Even if they dont, I've got my eyes set on being an old man with a bad back. Where walking everywhere with a stick comes with the job. 

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