Items of Rarity We are all model planes. My limbs and thoughts a bonanza of fragile joints. In the mirror, I look like a lost earring at a coffee shop. A venti dirty chai tea or iced americano routinely drunk each morning to keep time and bliss and flight patterns constant. They smoke cigars under my wings and play only the sad scenes in the movies, which has the mechanics fear that those salt water tears will erode my re- sale price. As a side hustle, I sometimes post my imperfections like the tiny smudge on the windshield or the crack between the third and first axis. Doing so gets me transferred higher on the shelf and ever closer to the skylight. One sunny day with my head in the clouds, this glue will melt and Iíll soar through the air. Let gravity decide my value.
© Jared Wong