Found while searching a junk shop for something else
which is entirely forgotten upon its discovery, he collects up the vintage Bazooka
Gum walking cane with a sense of the puzzle’s myriad pieces falling into their new
positions.
The store’s dry air freights the smell of everything
that has gone before.
deleted name: Oh this is much more appropriate. This
is perfect,
turning the length of scratched and pitted wood
between his hands,
deleted name: this might even contribute a certain…
oblique poetry.
Absent the brand’s one-eyed mascot, he wonders if
this is therefore an earlier promotional item pre-dating Joe, the long years
since having abraded parts of the still legible logo’s alternating red and blue
letters.
Functional too it bears his weight, and though oddly
not sized for a child he does wonder what adult would use a bubble gum company
premium as an actual walking stick?
He supposes this only one in a variety of available
lengths.
Next for him to consider, the logistics of getting
the item home: carry-on luggage, deployed as mock support, or
posted.
Ultimately, he simply walks it from the shop without
paying, a far easier prospect than ever imagined.
deleted name (to himself, aloud): Why steal, though?
Pause.
deleted name (to himself, aloud): Why not?
