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Give me a name-tag and I’ll hide it. Lanyards. They go in my pocket. Backstage passes…even more cringe. And something with “VIP” on it. FUCK OFF!
But – as you can see – I hold onto this shit. I keep the lanyards along with the ticket-stubs; I haven’t kept every single one, but a few of them. A bunch of them were hanging in my son’s room – they were (sort…
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