I Ruck I clutch. My old black Jansport, a trusty bag on my sturdy back, has carried many things in my life: cerulean blue Nikes, 3 quarters & 4 dimes, tiny Colgate toothpaste, a left contact lens, a broken chain of St. Jude’s necklace, pencil-written love letters, and shaken cans of 7up. Oh, and: Two Greyhound bus tickets, Boston, One Peter Pan, Providence. Brand new Elixir guitar strings, and a million other things. But I’ve always rucked, without my black pack: a great-grandma I’ve heard but never seen, anxiety of unrequited love and expectations of masculinity, artistry, creativity, vulnerability, guilty lies and vaulted secrets, and fear of family history: obesity, no memory, alcohol, BPD. I carry it all with me. I ruck. And I guess that makes me human. Mr. Dustin Uher
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