a friend's son wants J1's old drums. the ones that sit in the basement because there is a time for everything, and the time for the drums are pretty nigh past now. sure, come have a look at them, i say. my friend looks and i remember. there is the double pedal he saved up to buy. those are the cymbals he and his father shared the cost of. the floor vase is full of old sticks notched from years of percussion that he refused to discard. stop! i suddenly want to say. don't take them! that's a piece of my son's childhood i'm giving away!
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