ava bought a used book at the tea house and when she opened it, found a small photobooth frame wedged deep between the yellowed pages. pictured in the frame was a youngish man with longish hair. nineteen seventy something, I am sure of it.
it was as good as finding money. and it felt a little bit like maybe we'd completed some sort mysterious lost and found circuit-- what, with the lost chinatown polaroid and all.
as if balance, somehow, had been restored.