Cathyscraving 24 03 10 Scene 905 Sage Fox Cream Portable

On a rainy afternoon years later she found herself alone with the scrapbook, a thermos of warm tea at her elbow. The city had rearranged itself outside the window, but she could still place Scene 905 like a bruise on the city’s skin: tender, unassuming, real. She turned the page and traced the small photograph where a man with a foxish smile looked straight into the lens. The caption she’d written under it was not a name and not a date. It said, simply, Keep that.

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