futurebird's Diaryland Diary
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notary public
Walking in a small town in winter.
Off to the notary this morning. My mother lost a box that contained a bunch of federal savings bonds in my name. I didn1t even know they existed. I do remember winning a bond for writing a play some years ago. The first money I made from art. Things are getting thin. Might be time to spend it soon.
It1s good being in a small town. I feel freed from perfection. While I was sitting in the notary's office I looked out the window at the post office. A truck passes and it1s quiet. The Notary is an old woman with a dry mouth eating crackers. She takes a bite of a crackers and half of it falls out of her mouth as crumbs. But I'm not listening to her or my mother. I let my eyes rest on everything in the room: an outdated sealing stamp, a plastic fern, the wood panning, a painting of a pine tree barley visible through a stow storm, the old sturdy aluminum office chairs and the spot on the arm where the vinyl has worn thin exposing the foam dry and dusty as sand.
17:26:55 - 2000-11-24
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