Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

Number Forty-Seven, Long Since Called

A paper number torn from a bakery dispenser, the turn long over and the bread long eaten. A 47 kept in a pocket for no reason I can defend. Souvenirs With No Gift Shop.

Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

A Small Oval Passport Inside the Cover

A produce sticker peeled off an apple and pressed inside a notebook cover, found later like a passport I never meant to file. Souvenirs With No Gift Shop.

Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

Stamped In, Stamped Out

A parking slip from a lot in a town I only passed through. Time in, time out, fee paid. Proof of two hours that otherwise left nothing behind. Souvenirs With No Gift Shop.

Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

The Stone With No Label

A plain gray pebble that rode home in a coat pocket, picked up without deciding to, from a shore or a lot I can no longer place. Souvenirs With No Gift Shop.

Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

The Penny Was Longer Than It Should Be

A pressed penny from a highway machine, worth less than the cent it started as, kept because it proves the car stopped. Souvenirs With No Gift Shop.

Souvenirs With No Gift Shop

The Pine Tree in the Oval

A printed napkin from the last independent store on a long stretch of road, kept because you can tell when a place is running on the last of something. Souvenirs With No Gift Shop.