Modern toys with tiny screws and built in batteries whirl and beep their way  through life. Starting their journey under the Christmas tree and ending up in a landfill. Sometimes they end up there faster than expected. A misplaced foot step at 2:30am. An annoyed older sibling. But eventually, somehow, they end up there.

And I suppose, if you look hard enough and trace the foot steps of the Amazon driver that delivered it and garbage man that threw it into the back of the truck, you’d find what you were looking for. A simple truth that has you tongue tied on Christmas Day. A desire for the other. The house across the street. People moving and dinner conversation you can’t hear. Only imagine what it must be like. 

The toy though. Eventually. Somehow. It feels inevitable. A slow motion march interrupted only by the occasional hard throw against a wooden toy box. The man that built that toy box smoked Winston lights until he couldn’t get them anymore. His hands colored by wood stain  and softened by age. He’ll mention to anyone that will listen that his joints ache and he can’t hold on like he could before. 

And we’re forced to confront this together. His swollen joints and whatever you want to call this. A deep confessional. A late night glimmer of honesty edged along by the wine. He never was much of a salesmen. Word of mouth travels fast and keeps him busy. He says it feels more honest that way.

And I’d have to agree. The difference between a salesman and me is that the salesman has an agenda. A hard sell and a commission waiting for him. That’s how he puts new shoes on the wife and kids. I lack the agenda.  And now we’re back to where we started the foot steps of the Amazon driver, lacking an agenda, with an address and brown box with blue and black tape.

Nothing on offer and nothing for sale. Not even a cardboard box to hide the magic. That’s what you’re seeking right? The distraction of a stranger in a dark bar. But with eyes that notice you enough to mix your words with your desires until it seems as though I’m somehow cheating as I unwrap you. I’ve done this before, but never to you.