Tjeeni 02.01

As a kid, I used to collect key rings. Don’t ask me why. Probably some kind of primitive instinct. My inner hunter-gatherer must have thought they’d keep me alive in tough times. Around the age of ten, I “became a man” and stopped. Ever since, I’ve been walking around with an absolutely massive amount of totally useless key ring knowledge. Seriously huge. Tiny compasses, moving monkeys, mini pocket knives, plastic fruit — if you can hang it on a key ring, I know about it. For forty years my hippocampus guarded this expertise like a dormant KGB sleeper cell. Patiently. Waiting for the moment to strike. And that moment is now. Shoes were just a cover, I merely served as a host. Forget everything I’ve ever said — here they are: our key rings!