The crate was full

The crate was full. 
Oh, not of things. 
No not things.
For things are boorish.
Things are stationary.
Things are selfish.
Things are standoffish.
Things are stale. 
I mean there WERE things in the crate.
I'm not denying that. 
Just that they are not important.
Things rarely are.
Until they are.
Upon which time.
Importance is thrust upon them like a seal eating a banana. 
With its feat.
It makes no sense.
But why should it.
Other creatures dietary habits are none of your business. 
Unless you're a professional animal feeder. 
In which case it's utterly your business.   
There was a receipt in the crate. 
For a staple gun. 
Yet this crate was not at the hardware store. 
A clear sign that the receipt was put in the crate before the crate arrived at its current location. 
Clear signs being something else you can purchase at the hardware store.
But only big ones that seemingly sell everything. 
Big stores that seemingly sell anything that is, not clear signs that sell everything. 
Which would be super cool.
Except neither would sell the one thing you really need.
Which is love.
And respect. 
And opportunity. 
What, you thought the one thing you really need would be a hammer?
Well the hardware store definitely sells those.
So unless you have nails that are currently not inside wood and that this scenario is holding you back in some significant way then you do not 'need' a hammer. 
Maybe a paperclip. 
But I won't judge. 
The crate held a solution to the mystery of time. 
Or as they're commonly known - a 'time telling device'. 
Or as 'THEY'RE' commonly known - a friend who owns a watch. 
It's a big crate.
I perhaps should have mentioned that. 
The crate also holds a hair.
A brown one.
Straight.
Which is more comforting than a curly one. 
But less comforting than a hair with seven miniature societies at war with reality on them.
Relative size being something we are all comforted by.
Save the one whale who eats the billions of plankton!
Being a common war cry.
Or is it krill?
Does anyone really know? 
The answer is yes.
This is a big crate.
But it did not hold a whale.
Not because it's not big enough for a whale.
But mostly because making it water tight would require an internal membrane of leak proof glass.
And membranes are icky. 
No the crate was not empty. 
Not of things. 
But the crate was empty.
Of non-things.
Which are often more important than things.
Happiness brought on by a new relationship with a new car that was purchased by a new boss who has a new relationship with a new corporate credit card is not a thing.
Neither is sleeping with your boss.
But both involve grunt work.
Which is also not a thing. 
At least not a physical thing.
Which are the easiest things to point at.
'Check out that thing' for example. 
Yes the crate was full. 
But not of things. 
Oh no, not things. 
For things are common.
Things are misinformed.
Things are inanimate.
Things are quiet. 
This crate was full of non-things.
Like possibly.
Like opportunity. 
Like stale stench of a boss exploiting his position of power to be generous in exchange for generosity. 
That's pretty sweet. 
And icky.
Like the membrane that's absence killed the whale.  

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