I am Wicket’s burning shame.
“Like everyone else, I had become a slave to the Ewok nesting instinct. If I saw something clever like a Panshee stool in the shape of a war drum, I had to have it. I would flip through catalogs and wonder, “What kind of fire pit defines me as an Ewok?” We used to read pornography. Now it was the Coruscant Collection. I had it all. Even the drum sticks with tiny scratches and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of wherever.”
