When I make a big purchase, I sleep on it.
Which is why I spent the night tossing and turning in a moldy sleeping bag in a storm sewer while predatory creatures stalked the streets above me, as I thought about the item I was going to buy. It’s a real knockabout piece: it’s seen a lifetime of better days, and it’s wrapped in blue painter’s tape. The finish is worn, and the stampings on the body seem to indicate that it was made in Russia, probably more than fifty years ago. It’s a real vintage piece; all metal and wood, with no plastic to speak of. So in the morning, when I wake up, I walk out of the storm drain into the hostile light of the dusty day, filled with the malice of a moribund world straight out of a hellish dream. I’ll check my six, cover the corners, and watch shadows. I’ll walk to the the boarded up gas station, knock three times, get patted down, walk to the counter, and select my merchandise. I’ll buy the Russian. It’s stamped steel, wood, and tape. What more could you want from a canteen?