Lost sunglasses. Maybe they are in good condition. Maybe they will make me look cool.

Suddenly I see two moments for a piece of junk to become yours. One is clear; the other is murky. One is the moment you pick it up; the other is the moment you recognize it. I recognized a piece of junk and didn't transport it to its proper place - a waste container. My entire walk to Columbia City Station was bothered by this thought, this newly discovered guilt.
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