Here I am. I am a bag. A red bag. I lay in a closet full of clothes and hats, miniature football helmets and lots of other junk. It’s about this time of year when I become down. I feel sad. I don’t know where to start, so hold on. (tears fill the eyes I don’t have) *sniffs* I am sad because I am only visited once a day, and a boy walks into my room, takes a look at some shirts, and picks one, then he leaves. Day after day, and the same process is repeated, until summer. I think that’s what they call it. I enjoy summer. The boy packs me up with headphones, a charger, a sweatshirt, hat, and phone. Then we visit the airport. We take a while to get on the thing, but once it starts moving faster and faster.. He doesn’t even strap me up, he just
