| wrist wear When I was 12 I had a length of chain spot-welded to my right wrist. The other boys were doing, older brothers and fathers running the spot welders, and the inevitable burn mark was a badge of honour. Once attached you could not remove the chain. Mine snapped off on a ski lift in Quebec as I exited the chair, a single link breaking and dropping it far below. In college there were those woven friendship bracelets, a copper-tin woven metal ring traded to a friend by a pickpocket in Nairobi, a couple of leather twists and the longest lasting ones -- the links used to hold shower curtains back wrapped multiply around my right wrist. I broke the last one months and months ago and even now my wrist feels naked. Perhaps this american gulag bracelet could be my next? November 07 06 This entry is Tagged as follows: Personal, Politics, Schtuph. |
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