Key to the whutt?!

Fucking hell, so many keys! Every time I return from a trip, the keys pile up. One of the best things about that year I spent bummin' around was that I didn't have a single key to worry about. Even now, when I'm gone for three months at a time, it's so good to be rid of the keys.

But I always return to the inevitable: First, the key to my parent's house. The key to my storage locker. A key to a new apartment. A bike-lock key. Once, I even saved enough money to get a car key. The more normal my life becomes, the more keys I looped into my ring.

I fell in love with Aimee and got a key to her place. Then a key to her car. But now we're heading to South America, and the keys are dwindling again. We moved out of Aimee's and gave up the keys. We sold her car – with the keys. Sold my bikes with their locks. Sold my car. Emptied the storage. Now, all that's left is the key to my parent's place.

In two weeks we'll leave our last keys on my parent's kitchen table, get a ride to the airport and fly to Buenos Aires. No keys. Nothing to lock up. Just locked in limbo in that big ol' jet airliner without a key in our pockets. Freedom. Ha!

Then, of course, we'll get there and get new keys to a new apartment. But that's it, I swear to god. No car, no storage, no bike. Just a key or two each – max. It's fucking amazing how much those things weigh.