Looking for a quaint postcard
to send a girl I like, I wander into a salvage store on the outskirts of
town. The building is small, but the back lot is stacked high with random
junk stretching back hundreds of feet, a sorting task to last a lifetime.
I step into the
fluorescent-lit main building and browse the antiques aisle while an
oldies station croons distantly from somewhere in the ceiling. The shelves
are piled haphazardly with old telephones, black and white photos, ancient
soda bottles, and various other junk made valuable solely by its age. On
the bottom rack is a large box of post-cards, jumbled together in a heap.
I begin sifting through them, looking for just the right card. Something
that will be funny in that quirky antique way. A silly old ad, maybe.
Grinning men smoking pipes. Something with the word "swell".
I pull out and consider
several cards, but can't seem to find what I'm looking for, so I dig
deeper, piling the cards on the floor next to me to get at the lower
layers. I am about to give up when my fingers catch something that is not
a card. I pull it out and set it on the floor, filled with the vague
sensation that I have just found something