in my wallet.
a phone number without
a name.
it could be anybody.
an old friend,
a lover,
an ex wife,
a work related thing.
i hold it up to the light
trying to determine
which decade it came from.
what year?
any coffee stains, or chinese
food smeared
on the narrow slip
of paper.
not a single piece of rice
attached.
i smell it, feel it, rubbing
it between my thumb
and finger.
no perfume. no clue.
it looks local though.
maybe someone is still waiting
for me to call.
i should do the right
thing and dial the number.
that's a good idea, but
maybe later when i have
more time.
i fold it back up and slide
it into my wallet again.
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