Pens, a journal, a phone, "Ada or Ardor", seven one dollar bills, a fortune that I received from a monk in India which I can never open or the luck it contains will be lost, facial tissue, cough drops, Emergen-C, sunscreen, lip gloss, a toothbrush, and a shirt.
With only these effects to consider, the world would think...

That I don't carry much.
That I have a horrible cold.
That I have exceptional (or awful) taste in authors.
That I am very, very pale.

I did ask a dear friend what one item I should add to this group that would sufficiently represent Who I Am. He responded with, "toe shoes or ballet slippers". Now, that's all fine and good, but a bit pretentious.

So, if there were one item I would add to the contents which would better enunciate the truth of my person to the world it would be...

a CD on which one would only hear Erik Satie's "Gnossienne #3"

or my French translation of Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer" (which I unfortunatley sold a couple of months ago).

Of course, it occurs to me that those two items are just as pretentious as toe shoes, so I guess then the world would imagine me pretentious. And that's okay.