The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. -Thoreau
Wendell spat, and gripped the stick of wood he was using for a bat a little bit tighter. He squinted at the pitchers mound, dreaming of his picture next to Babe Ruth’s. There had been a couple times today when Wendell had come close to hitting the ball. Maybe this time he actually would.
The pitchers arms went back, and the ball hurtled towards Wendell. He winced and shut his eyes.
Baseball is stupid. Wendell stalked towards home, kicking the sidewalk as he went. His toe met something solid and he hopped in pain. A 2×4. Picking it up he swung it in an ark through the air, imagining a baseball soaring past the fence as he did.
Wendell look at his pointless bat. Why was he even lugging this thing around anyway? There was a hammer and nails in the garage. He nailed the bat and the 2×4 together.
A couple weeks later he found another board, he didn’t know what to do with it, so he nailed it to the 2×4. He started to collect all of the boards he found and nail them together. He didn’t really know where he was going with it, but one day, as he looked down at his handiwork, he realized that he had made a box.
Boxes are very handy. Wendell climbed inside, and nailed on the last few boards. It was safe in here. Good thing he’d given up on baseball.
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