There’s something about the keys in my pocket that say where I’m at in life. For almost a year, I had two keys: the key to my car, and the key to my door. The key to my car was used constantly; the key to my door, almost never.
Now, I have a big wad of keys. I’ve gone from key-pauperdom to a key-king, with fourteen pounds of metal necessitating a tighter belt when I walk.
Keys for the shop; keys for the house, my apartment, the storage shed; keys for friends; keys on loan for the show I’m on… They’re all someone else’s keys.