I am an American Tourister.
I am a bright blue medium sized suitcase.
I am small enough to be put in the
I was chosen by my traveller not only
for my good looks but for skill in dodging corners. My wheels rotate in all directions for ease of use. I am also good at expanding my holding capacity by unzipping my midriff.
I have an inbuilt locking mechanism
so my traveller does not have to bother
with miniature padlocks.
Three numbers have to be dialled into place before I allow the zip ends to drop out.
I have been to Rome, Milan, Florence,
Boston, New York and London and
smaller trips to Brisbane and Launceston.
When a passport is spotted at the
home of my traveller I know I need
to get ready for an adventure.
Bumped, banged and manhandled
at airports. Lots of waiting on carousel which is fun to see the people waiting to grab and haul luggage off. I am examined at customs like I am an international drug smuggler. I get a bit tired and sore when I am dragged over cobbles in the older countries.
In the times between I am stored in the attic. I sit next to the Christmas tree and wrapping paper and stuff that is not used all the time. I get covered in a layer of cobwebs and unwanted junk but I am never forgotten.
I wait for the next trip.
That is my life as a suitcase.