KyasaKnock

Thoughts, no. 146

Every pencil carries a small guess about whoever buys it. The rubber on the end is sized for how often its owner will be wrong, and nearly every pencil guesses low: the rubber is worn down to the metal while half the pencil is still left. Nobody sends one back over it. People just keep writing with the bare ferrule, a little more carefully than before, which is more or less what the pencil was hoping for all along.

Written at the house on .