I sigh, closing my leather journal and setting it (along with my pen) aside in my small, light cerulean blue satchel. The satchel has been my best friend ever since I first found it in the antique store five and a half years ago when mom and dad had given this to me as a kind of early birthday gift. It was the last thing both my parents had given to me before passing.

The leather used to be new, polished, smooth even. Now after five years of having this satchel it's finally starting to look timeworn, but it's that kind of oldish, worn out look makes it all the more appealing for me.

By Rin Tohsaka's 1 Hour Videos, June 4, 2019*.

The satchel had been my best find in a while from the thrift store. The leather was kinda beaten, but that made it all the more appealing to me. This bag had already had a life, maybe it was some drug runner's money bag and they had to get rid of it because they were too well known for keeping their cash in it. Maybe it had belonged to a spy who'd used it undercover and had no more need of it. But whoever it was they liked cherry chap-stick, I found a half finished one in the bottom along with some old gum wrappers and cookie crumbs.


Pockets were okay for sweets, and the odd pack of Woodbine's, but little else back then was pocket-sized. So along with far too many books, and my plimsolls, even my slide-rule was wedged into my old leather satchel. It was hard to buckle up, and when not cutting into my shoulder, the strap seemed intent on strangulation.
When it finally gave way, Dad, who was on two bob an hour, couldn't afford a new one. Instead, he tied the two ends together, with an old bootlace. It done the trick for a while.

By albee, July 31, 2014.