The stash, Berkeley, CA.
I used to think stationary supply fetishes were hereditary. What with my mom’s, and then of course mine. But the little guy is proving I should not discount the powerful effect of environment, either. What with, you know, his.
His out-of-town auntie asked what to get him for Christmas, and we honestly had to say: pads. Ring-bound, glue-bound, small, large, lined, unlined. Pads. And pens. Pads and pens. Nifty thing about this of course is that I can get tons more use value out of forgotten and discarded pads and pens then I would forgotten and discarded Hot Wheels or little plastic army guys. So there’s that.
* Ed. note, two days later: this was my 1,000th post! Holy mackerel!