Monday, December 06, 2004

I'm not sure what it is about lighters, but I operate under some sort of delusion that they cannot be purchased, only obtained through noncommercial means. Everyone's familiar with the phenomenon of coming home and discovering in one's pocket someone else's lighter; I'd bet that, conservatively, 25% of lighters reside with someone other than their purchaser. But why must I feel that it's only through this accidental theft that a lighter can become mine? It'd never cross my mind to pick one up at Walgreen's, say, while replenishing my supply of the earplugs I use to muffle the arguments between prostitutes and their clientele that lively up the night beneath my bedroom window. Instead, I must fret and worry when a given lighter's begun to run out of inflammatory power. "Christ, this here Bic's not long for this world, and me with no parties to go to for days. Dear God, let it last."


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