The Target Box

It's the third week in August, which means I'm heading north for my annual road trip, my pilgrimage to Chicago. I got the red Mustang out of the garage and had her detailed. The windows are down, I'm driving fast, and my collection of mix tapes are blasting at full volume. I have one weekend, and it's going to be an all-out bender.

I'll hit some of the usual highlights: catch a Cubs game, visit a museum, and maybe take in a bit of the Air and Water Show. I may catch up with old friends, but probably not. I will meet a girl. I will start with good intentions; I will try to be nice. I will be the best that I can be, whatever that means.

There is only one thing on the schedule, one thing I must do before leaving. You see, there's a box that's been sitting on my mantel for the past year. A small wooden box, surrounded by pictures, that has never been opened. Before leaving, I must take care of the Target Box.

That I know.