Life, to me, is a tightrope – a series of equilibria that can be tipped over to one extreme or another by the smallest things. And consequently, I tend to deny that such small things were small to begin with...
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When I was ten years old my fourth grade class took a trip to Old Town Sacramento where I struck gold at a gift shop among postcards of Fort Sutter and T-shirts reading I went to mine for gold and all I got was this stupid T-shirt. A few flakes suspended in a clear plastic cube the size of a die for four ninety-nine and I would let my envious classmates see but not touch because it was gold and it was MINE. Taking it out nonchalantly in the middle of a crowd admiring it and soon being chased to the corners by greedy little fingers everyday until my fourth grade class moved on from the Gold Rush to the California Missions and adobe ruled the day and I, in defensive habit, would run to the corner of the world unchased, the gold hiding in my pocket in embarrassment.