The Collector

The Collector

I’m a collector of sorts. As a child I dabbled in rocks, but as I’ve aged I found that I far prefer people. Odd people. The folks people try not to look back at when they pass by because they were told its rude to stare. I was taught that rule too. I don’t abide by it. I need to see them in order to know if they are worthy of the collection. I don’t mean people who dress like wizards or wear all leather because they are making a statement. There is a different level of oddity that isn’t based in aesthetic, but in our humanness taken to an extreme. People don’t look back at these people because it’s rude, but also because they are afraid that they might see some aspect of themselves in in the man wearing snowshoes in July – it might cause them to ask, why aren’t I wearing snowshoes? Instead of letting that thought creep into their mind, they laugh and shake their head as they walk away. I don’t shake my head or look away – I choose to stare until the interesting folks come up to me and tell me their stories. I collect them.