Behind the Venue, My Husband Handed Me a Scrapbook Pulled From the Dumpster

to a pulse through the walls, the scent shifting from flowers and perfume to something more functional, detergent and old air. I was moving toward the service corridor when a flash of color caught my peripheral vision through a narrow window.

A corner of familiar wrapping paper, hanging from the edge of an open dumpster lid. The specific paper from continue reading …