The vest

                I am a packrat. I think I possibly attribute it to seeing the movie Toy Story as a kid. Inanimate objects have always had some sort of strange energy to me, so I have trouble simply discarding them. I have so many things that I have deep emotional connections to. Perhaps one of the greatest of them is my camo vest. This vest was once a long sleeve jacket from the local Army/Navy surplus store. I wore the jacket to my first ever punk rock concert. After that, I cut the sleeve off, turning it into a vest, and sewed several patches onto it. This is a very common thing for a young punk rocker to do, and I am no exception. I cut up a band t shirt and sewed it onto the back of the best, and ripped metal studs off my studded belt and inserted them all over the back of the vest, creating a sort of protection to it. For nearly every concert I went to in middle school and high school, I wore this vest. When I drank my first beer, I was wearing this vest. The first time I played a punk show, I was wearing this vest. It has never been washed, never been cleaned, and it seems like I never took it off for more than 4 years.

                As I’ve gotten older, I’ve grown detached from wearing such flashy clothes, although I still am a part of the punk rock culture. The vest sits in my closet, attracting dust, but I still have an incredibly close attachment to it. If I were to die tomorrow, I would want my girlfriend Marina to have it. She has been there during almost the entire period that I have had it, and we have made many happy memories while I was wearing it. She loves it as deeply as I do, and it would only feel natural for her to have it. Heck, our first several dates we had, the old camo vest clung tightly to my body. To give it to her is to give her a piece of myself.

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