My sunglasses broke this weekend, which is a perfectly normal thing to occur, as they were plastic and fallible and made by  humans, not magic or indestructible or made by gods. Human Things: they break, and to get attached to them is waste of time, unless of course THEY ARE THE MOST PERFECT SUNGLASSES THAT EVER WERE.   These sunglasses fit my face like a face glove and transported me to another place, made me Janis  at a summer garage sale, Janis on a vacay, myself if I lived in 73, if I had Stage Presence, myself if I were her:

And so today I marcheddrove down to the store where I found them a year ago, and for nineteen dollars, procured the exact same pair. Rest easy, face. You’re not here. You’re There.