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There is something about a hardware store. Maybe it’s the sound of nuts and bolts when someone runs a hand through their bins. It could also be the shiny silver socket wrenches and colorful plastic handles on the screwdrivers. The yellow ones are my favorite.
It could be all of those things, but it’s not.
It’s the hammers.
I love hammers. It’s an obsession.
I begin to sweat. My hands tremble.
I’m salivating and know it’s time.
Despite the pounding in my head from the last hardware store, I pick up a hammer and smack myself in the head.