Retracing the missing link

I'm still carrying it in my pocket, the MISSING LINK. It is symbolic for how my walking soles led to a walking soul. A tiny smelly piece of plastic. But in the eye of the beholder everything can look like gold. Even turn into gold.

What happened to Don Quichote? I forgot about him for a while. Although I felt the shadow of a table on my back. The madness of a master in endurance. I felt a donkey standing on my toe. I traded my full house for unknown cards. No blisters on my foot this time but soaring spots on other bodyparts because of memories rubbing against other memories.
I need a plaster. Or maybe just another walk.

I won't pray to the plastic gods. But I will throw their boomerang tomorrow.