To keep things is to distance ontological loneliness. Thereby, I am a Keeper of Things, so as to thicken the irretrievably finite fabric of my life, right smack up against the dolorous face of my own death. Consider it this way: as a gift to those who trod behind me, progeny at large, just as I have been enriched by those who left things for me. And that is the backstory of the human journey. Herein lies the spiritual and pedagogical importance of the reverential preservation of the past. So, eat your experiences while you can and keep your things safe from Texas turkey vultures and the noxious purveyors of obsolescence. In short, all that you leave is but a mere trace; that is, if you have left your things. Otherwise, as they say, what happened to Malone? Nothing, not even a trace.