Maria wasn't there today - the counter was manned (womanned?) by a young Latina woman. I had once come in to ask her if putting up the display would be OK, but she didn't remember me.
"Is this yours?" she asked, smiling a little.
I felt sort of embarrassed. "Yeah..." I thought about explaining the project a little but went with some awkward empty phrase like, "It's...funny."
The notebook had nothing new written in it and was really far back on the counter (were the employees using it?). The woman saw me looking at it.
"They stole pages?"
"Yeah..."
The poems on the board are:
you never love me
safe
dream grow than
money first smell
home
could these
trust
was for fear job did human
they black
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