With wide eyes and white knuckles I gripped the 1.6oz hyperd, hanging on for dear life as my hopes of a cleanly sewn gathered end were ripped up in front of me like a wood chipper eating a branch. It felt far too late to rip the seams now. The fabric seemed to have a force of its own, pulling and tangling wildly, and I was carried on the winds of nihilistic freedom until I had sewn...something. But what? The lines of the stitching were uneven, drunkenly meandering an uncertain path. The ripstop, twisted by panicked hands desperately attempting to correct mistakes even as they were locked in place by the unforgiving pistons of a diabolical machine. YouTube had lied to me.

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