A Metaphor.

It's hard to leave baggage on the carousel. Even when you know it's just full of shit you don't need and will just throw in a closet where it will ultimately make it impossible to store anything else in said closet. That red light starts flashing and the buzzer sounds and you're frantically searching for that stupid fucking bag that you know you should just throw away...but the thought of doing that just makes you panic more. That bag has been good to you. It's carried some good stuff that kept you protected from the cold. You try and imagine life without the baggage. How light you'd feel. How easily you'd move through big crowds not having to say "excuse me, excuse me, I'm sorry, Sorry!" How you could stand on the El and not piss people off with your cumbersome baggage that keeps slamming them in the back when the train comes to a sudden stop. How lovely it would be to stand up straight, unburdened.

But, the pull is too great. That red light is flashing and the buzzer is buzzing and here comes that lovely, tacky, plaid, heavy, beat up baggage.