One memory that kept popping up occasionally over the years is of my mother lending my neighbor my favorite matchbox car. By the time I’d gotten to him, he’d crushed it. I don’t think he meant anything by it, and I don’t have bad feelings to either one of them, I just know how much that sucked. I do remember that nobody gave a shit, and I never got it replaced.

Late last year I decided I was gonna get it back, so I’ve spent a few hours spread over some months when I was bored at my pc looking at matchbox size red Dodge Vipers from the 90s. Most had the wrong color, or extra decals, or the wrong wheels, etc. Eventually I found it, ordered a copy, and it got delivered about a month ago. I don’t play with it, but it sits on my desk at home as a sort of fidgeting toy.

I’m sure it says some bad shit about my psyche but to me it’s a nice reminder of a time when I was much happier. Maybe I should get some beyblades.