A small girl in the train. I smiled. She caught it; flashed a tray full of rubber bands at me. No, I shook my head. I didn’t need any. She picked up another tray of clips and rushed towards me. No, I shook my head. I didn’t need any. Then I looked at her, then at the clips. One of them was fine. How much? I asked her, pointing towards a clip- part of a packet of three. She quoted the price of all three. Not the pack, just one, said I. She insisted, I’ll reduce the rates, take the whole pack. I don’t need any, I reminded, and anyways all three of them look the same. No, she pointed out, one is black and one red (it was a pretty carmine), and the other “chocolatey” (it was dark brunt sienna). Ya, but still it’s the same pattern. I don’t need them.
Then I bought them, all three of them, despite their being identical. Why did I purchase those clips? For her chubby cheeks, her innocence, her cuteness, or for her childhood that was lost in selling those clips.
The least I could do was buy them (lame)