December 3, 2019
My first backpack was when I was a young boy going to school. Once school ended for me and I was an adult I didn't own a backpack anymore. Then one day in my twenties I bought one when I moved to a college town without a car to my name. I used it to contain things I liked to take with me when I rode a bus to and from work at the other side of town. This lasted for about two years and I hated that backpack. Then I bought a car, my third car, when I was 25, ditched that backpack for good.
Then my world went tumbling down. The economy crashed, I lost my job, my friends betrayed me, superstars were sending sleazy private investigators to stalk me, I was doomed. So I left that college town and bought me a new backpack, hit the road to start a new life. I hated this situation but it was my best option.
I spent the next 10 years of my life fighting those bastards, avoiding assassination attempts, getting screwed to seventh hell as celebrities stalked me and sabotaged all my actions towards salvaging my life. All the while I had a damned backpack. I didn't have a choice. Without a backpack where would I put my things? Sometimes I'd switch it up and use a duffle bag but all of the same it was an add on I could never get accustomed to.
Eventually I pulled it all together and outsmarted those bad guys. I bought my fourth car and found a decent job. Started over like I wanted to so long ago but was prevented from doing. I don't use a backpack anymore.
I hate backpacks. Fuck you, backpack!
Aliens, traitors and mortal enemies would oppose me and attack me but not my loved ones, my family, my countrymen or my allies.