The Duck Was In My House This Whole Time

Yesterday while walking through the office of my four-room railroad apartment, I had a revelation: I own the hot duck, in the form of this tchotchke my roommate picked up somewhere and at some point put on a shelf.

Why had I never noticed the duck, or pair of ducks (shown here with a quartz crystal, not included), before yesterday? Is it because the office is decorated like a college dorm room, and therefore I have trained myself to notice nothing in it as an act of self-preservation? Is it because I am too inside my head, always thinking through moves/anxiety and oblivious to my surroundings? Or is it because it wasn’t the right time to notice the duck until now, when the duck is in the zeitgeist?


Reader, I will never know, nor do I truly give a shit. But check out these hot ducks in ceramic form, though. They’re all right.

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