You think you're hilarious don't you? Playing hide-and-seek is so 80s, and frankly I'm frustrated by this playfulness that feels more like a malicious attempt to keep my glasses from being streak-free.
When I look for you, it's as if you want to evade all the usual places I often leave you. Were you not happy in my jeans pockets? Too warm and linty? Or did you see a better future for yourself languishing under my bed, between couch cushions, behind that Joan Didion I'm re-reading? Yeah, she's a great writer, I don't blame you.
You're not the only one, buddy. I've bought more of you so I won't have to freak out the next time my glasses need a solid cleaning. Yes, you're replaceable, don't you forget that!
You have one job, Cloth: to give me clarity in the most literal sense. I'm not looking for anything magical here; just a swipe here, a swipe there, and I'm on to tackle my day smudge-free. If you can't get down with that...hell...I don't even know you any more.
So it's up to you how this all ends. You can continue being my pocket companion when the going gets wet and foggy, or you can keep playing keep-away like I'm getting bullied in a John Hughes movie. Either way, I'm on the prowl for you...because Lord knows I won't ever resort to wiping my glasses with your nemesis, Edge of Shirt.
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Media criticism. Poetry. Theatre. Toronto. Technology. Travel. Sports. Why X-Files rocks.