The warmth of his hand woke me up from my nap in the closet hangers, today since months ago he took me again. I assumed it was time to return to the routine of college and that the vacations were over. Again, back to having my color designs praised.

Ceramic cherries I feel inside me. The owner places more pieces in me: angels, music boxes, piggy banks, etc. They are all old things, my clothes become aware of that because of the dust. They are all old things, my clothes become aware of that by the dust they release. Where is the computer and the diary? I thought maybe I had a collection meeting . Maybe she wanted to show the variety of pieces her mother kept before she died. Suddenly, I felt a notebook, so I confirmed my theory was true. What a great idea to share with the girls the figures of the past. Listening to other people's stories was what I missed most this vacation.

In the elevator I rummaged through things and did not find my mistress's treasures. It's too late... she will be very angry if she doesn't see them. She forgot about her peach-scented bottle and her other sticky bottles. No way.

As I left the house I felt the hot air, suffocating for my skin subject . Red can darken in the sunlight. Even more, with my mistress's sweat, my scent is likely to be lost. She ignored it, so I assumed she was in a hurry. Even in the subway she was not still, I felt her every movement. I think this is not the way to college, could it be that she chose the wrong bag? The strong sun managed to hit me as I exited the main thoroughfare.

Everyone is walking fast and I have never seen such a variety of bags. They were different types from miniatures to thin fabric with printed images. How long have we been getting prints? There are so many new models, some of them don't even look like handbags, because they just fit the card. I must admit that they all match very well with the person who carries them. However, since when is our prestige to go with the clothes of the being and not the being? The clothes don't matter, they are just an accessory that doesn't carry anything.

My owner's quickness stops my indignation. She doesn't even give me the time to listen to what people are saying in the cafes. Nor to look at what each bag looks like. It only gives me time to observe a girl who seemed to be heading in the same direction. She was carrying a huge bundle about to overflow. Maybe she had to leave some things for someone. I don't know, I still don't know why my mistress is pulling me so much. She stops for a moment to answer a call, which she doesn't even let me hear because she covers for me as we go down an alley. I don't understand anything...

Her sticky hands touch me and I feel my leash about to give out. If I give in to her, maybe my mistress will realize that I can't carry such heavy things. And I'd better buy a plastic bag that will hold more than I do. Yes, I am more sensitive, those because they are resistant and useful. That's not what I'm for. My best friend is treating me like one.

Finally we enter a place where I can rest. The wetness of my mistress still stuns me, but I manage to come back to reality. I hope it will stop here for a while. I want to rest. It seems that my dear friend knows this, because she places me on a table. She manages to hear some voices, as well as the touch of big hands.

- So, miss, everything, including the bag, will go to donation?

- Yes, everything. The pieces are valuable and of good quality for bargaining.

- And the bag?

- They can haggle it down or not. Although I think he's already given his all.

- Hey, put this bag over there in the pile to destroy it.

I feel like I'm being shaken again and thrown into a tank.