Radioactive Trinitite
The suicidal ideation of the Cold War was infectious, and I caught it young.
Stories — true, invented, or somewhere in-between.
The suicidal ideation of the Cold War was infectious, and I caught it young.
I never gave that little silver rabbit to my mother.
A talisman steering me clear of the Siren song of fear and indifference.
I wanted to find a dinosaur fossil, badly.
These totems keep me centered and help focus my thoughts when I got driving duty.
Anyone with five cents could buy one, but I didn’t know that at the time.
One of the first machines invented and used primarily by women.
A mysterious relic created by routine, familiarity, and sentimentality.
Its inner workings make me think of it as a miniature Modernist building.
My talisman keeps me vigilant, wary of the complex bait and switch skills of confidence men.
The hatchet is of Swedish manufacture, and thrums with northern virtues.
It was frayed and melancholy and only slightly hopeful and right up my alley.
Scores of Kennedy souvenirs were produced during his lifetime; this one is eerie.
A brand suffering from a personality crisis will get lost in the noise of the category.