I remember when I was a kid how I’d have a full box of .22 ammo, or a brand-new pack of cigarettes, or a new package of notebook paper, and just having it would give me a safe, secure feeling.  We were poor, and it was rare for me to have more than one of anything at a time.  Hell, around our house, it was pretty unusual for anyone to have more than one thing at a time.  For me, having fifty cartridges, or twenty smokes or — OMG! — a hundred sheets of notebook paper created an unusual sense of everything being right in my tiny world — at least for that moment.  Even an unopened or relatively new pack of playing cards could do that to me.  To feel secure, I needed my stash.
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