Dozens of them.
There was no money.
Each labeled with a place.
Bus Stop.
Grocery Store.
Airport.
Laundromat.
Park Bench.
Waiting Room.
Hospital Chapel.
At the very bottom sat a battered notebook with bent corners, but I didn’t open it yet.
At the very bottom sat a battered notebook.
The envelopes bothered me more.
I picked up Bus Stop first.
Inside was an old train ticket, softened by age.
On the back, Thomas had written:”She finally went.”
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Went where?
Who was she?
