Every so often I stumble across a neatly folded red t-shirt tucked way back in my closet when I'm organizing or looking for something. I'm always compelled to unfurl it, unfailingly get lost in memories. It's my two-thousand-dollar t-shirt. I've never worn it. I'm not even sure I've ever washed it, but I have considered having it framed because of the price. In spite of the sage words of my grandma, I never liked to stand out, preferring a safe place huddled in the masses. It