Mine was the only clean room in the entire house. This was my shrine, my temple, and I watched in horror as my drawers were emptied and my closets brutally divorced of order. While searching my desk, my father came across a gold-plated mechanical pencil he recognized as his own. It had once occupied the same drawer as his coins, and I admitted that, yes, I had “taken” the pencil but I hadn’t really “stolen” it. There was a big difference between the two. You steal the things that you covet while you take the things the original owner is incapable of appreciating. The pencil had spoken to me of
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