off the tree. He hadn’t been far off from the truth, he figured. It was a picture of a light blue bird with a phone number underneath. He folded the sheet carefully and slid it into his pocket. This one seemed to have a story. It would be a cherished part of his collection. Emotionally, it became valuable to him on the spot. It wasn’t more than a missing poster, but he understood that the bond between this person and their pet must be very deep. It fascinated him. And of course he wondered if the animal was dead yet. He hoped it was. Because then it could be sure that it was missed, and that the person would think about it time and time again. He imagined that maybe, the person would start to religiously go on walks and come here, just to remember. Maybe even put up a memorial. It was a bitter imagination, but that bitterness was something so familiar to him that he mainly saw the beauty in it. He felt something, a little something that he couldn’t pin down. But it was proof that he was alive. A little thing, no more no less, but one of greater importance than most big events within his life, and he was sure that he would remember it for a long long time, maybe forever, if something with as much weight as eternity even existed.