A telephone number, with no name attached, is written down on a napkin. This is what I find on my desk. I don’t remember the napkin being left there. I placed it there myself, most likely; I just don’t remember. I don’t know. Where will the number lead? To whom does this number belong to? Should I call? Should I leave it a mystery?
I am not impulsive. I leave it, specifically, in the heat of my pocket, where the ink spreads. By the time I remember to begin to come to a decision on whether or not to call the number on the napkin, it has vanished. Mystery, in this case, is a consequence of my indecisiveness and neglect.
Still, I carry around the napkin, ink spreading. The napkin continues crumpling into realms of unintelligibility. Shreds of white and blue. It goes through the wash, several times. I resolve to throw the pieces away. I never do.
• Treasure Teeth: http://utopianbanquethall.tumblr.com
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