So I was doing a bit of stewing and quiet raging as I strolled down the sidewalk, looking forward to eating and going to bed, praying I'd finally be able to sleep that night. Then I passed a big cardboard refrigerator box, sitting all alone in the middle of the sidewalk, like the monolith in 2001. I stopped a moment and squinted it at. It was dredging something up, I could feel it. Didn't know what it was yet, though.
Memory is such an odd beast.
I stepped around the box, which was a good foot taller than me, and continued on my way towards home. With each step, I knew I was getting closer to what that box was stirring in my memory. I used to play with boxes as a kid, but that wasn't it. Pretended they were tanks or submarines or battleships in the dark, cement-floored basement of the little duplex we lived in. This was different though.