San Simeon, USA
1952
I am in a cool, cavernous, indoor space, a small figure resting on the floor in the midst of thousands of other objects, mostly larger. Two men in neutral grey suits are navigating through the piles of things, moving some of it around and talking.
This guy had a lot of junk, didn't he?
Yep. Old man traveled all over the world collecting it. Now he's gone, nobody wants any of it.
Facing me is a child-size wooden structure, painted red. It has two parallel metal bars running down its length. Symbols forming the word ROSEBUD appear at one end.
Sort of a shame it all has to go.
One of the men comes close, carelessly takes the red wooden item and moves away. He comes back and reaches for me.
Say, this cat ain't so bad looking. Terrible shape, of course, looks like like it's been to hell in a hand-basket and back. But my sister's into this kind of thing, art deco or something, maybe.
He stares into my eyes, as so many have. I see curiosity in his expression. He wants to know where I've been. But he cannot know.
So take it. Nobody else will.
You think? Maybe I will. Maybe I just will.