i remember a customer came up and when i went to retrieve his items with the little ticket he gave me, i left the spiral open on the counter. i forgot about it. when i came back and was wrapping up and tying the ends of the bag, he was making small talk. says to me, "did you write this?"

"pardon?" i asked. not believing he just said that.

"this poetry. did you write it?" he asked again.

i hemmed and hawed for a little bit. flustered and clumsy with the package. trying to hurry and finish. mumbling something about it being not very good. i'm sure my face was red.

he says to me: "never be ashamed of anything you put on paper."

that's all that was said. that saturday afternoon. between the stranger and me.