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Getting to nowherefast is an uphill climb. By the time you reach the summit, you realize that the only way to go is down.

”You’ll never find a flask in a thrift store.” She says.

“I never find chess books either.” I says.

I comb the moldy stacks of yellow papyrus searching for holy grails. Frayed binding and cut pages texturing my soul. I run my fingers over titles and authors, dust jacket braille. I work through the rows and stacks of immortal words and pick a few for longevity. Sometimes, when too hot of heaven shines, I find something I’ve been looking for. The thing I lift my feet over railroad tracks for and I smile selfishly. My treasure. That thing for me fits snugly in my collection of things I own to envy.

I pay pennies for books.

I tried to find my father’s grave two days ago. I was lost in a cemetery. I was banking on an inkling of semblance. I could not find the grave and the office with the kiosks to find section and lot numbers was closed. My lover grew impatient with me. She wondered why I could not find my own father’s grave. She directed me and asked me about landmarks. I went with my will.

I saw a short man exit a Lincoln Town Car and enter the building. I followed, but found the door locked when I pressed the lever. I walked away with repose.

The man spotted me looking at a posted map. He walked toward me with a hiccupped gait. He was a short man with a black handlebar mustache. He says,

“Whatcha lookin for?”

”My father’s grave.” I say.

”Itsaa big cemetery, gooda luck finding it.” He says, taking off his bowler hat.

I stalked through the cemetery trying to remember. My soles sunk into the semi frozen wet ground. I was lost. I was looking for trees, I knew it was by a tree.

”Don’t you know where your dad is buried?” She asked.

”The ground was frozen when my dad died, we had the service inside.” I shuddered with remorse. ”I’ve only been here twice.” I said, sinking into sorrow.

“Call your mom.” She says.

I called my mom. I didn’t want to because I didn’t want her to feel any sorrow or talk about things we don’t talk about. But I called her, wandering around a cemetery looking for my father’s grave. My mother couldn’t find the paperwork and I was defeated. Until I found it.

I found it and showed Dawn and was proud to show her his military grave saying he was a Sergeant in the United States army during Vietnam. I showed her how it was flat next to a tree and surrounded by big granite tombstones just like I had said.

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