If you don’t have anything nice to say, say it anyway

The plane tickets are non-refundable. The rail passes aren’t either. They have been purchased and are being safely stored in a coffee can deep within a closet.

Maybe some rogue grounds clinging to the can will adhere to the rail pass instead. I’ll hand my pass to the train attendant. He’ll check that I’ve marked the appropriate day of travel and hand it back. He’ll look at his hand then rub his fingers together, wondering what this grainy, brown shrapnel on his hand is. He might ask his co-worker, what is this shit?, in a language I don’t understand or in an accent so thick the English is indiscernible. I won’t have the opportunity to explain.

You see, sir, these passes were in a coffee can. Back in America, I mean the United States. Think of it as a souvenir. My treat.

As for me, souvenirs would take up too much space in an already max-capacity 35lb backpack. Not to mention they weren’t accounted for in the budget. The only affordable souvenirs will be stamps in a passport, free evidence of my much-desired worldliness. Proof of my experience. Proof that one day, after real jobs, kids, commitments, will lay on a coffee table collecting dust and the occasional rogue ground.