Items

Cane. Long ago, I realized that irony works against me. To turn the tables on this malicious Universe, whenever I damaged a leg, I would spend my down-time fashioning a beautiful cane. Without fail, by the time my new cane was complete, my injury would have healed and I would find myself robbed of the opportunity to stroll about with it. I usually give these away (I gave one with red, black, yellow and green birds to an old Rastafarian called Skelly; A brutal cane fashioned from a gilded trailer hitch and a crocked tree-branch ended up with an Irishman named Gavin, and I gave one to my father. I've kept this one around as a totem to ward off future sprained ankles.