No spark

It's a chilly evening and I shudder slightly as I look down at the pile of wood illuminated by my phone screen that could have been a fire but will remain kindling because I opted to save 27 cents at the Value Mart and purchased these pathetic matches. Strike after strike until I simply could not bare it any longer. In baseball, you mercilessly get 3 before you can slink away to the comfort of the dug out and some sunflower seeds. In the real world, we are not so lucky and I have now almost certainly developed carpal tunnel syndrome from the amount of times I stubbornly drew the match across that box only to experience the exact same outcome, failure. Perhaps I have actually died and am stuck in limbo. Sentenced to spend the next 27 years attempting to light one of these heinous little sticks that someone labelled a match.