Paper

Springing from my bed this morning, the glow silhouetting the leaves out my window brought me a spark of excitement rather than the usual weariness of another jobless day. I reached for a fresh set of black boot-fitting jeans, unworn for weeks. Slipping them on, I filled my pockets with the necessities of the West: wallet, cell phone, keys - check. The I flung my arms in the air and leaned back for a long, inverted-cat stretch, thrusting my belly forward.

My hands nestled into my back pockets and I stood, thinking not of the past, nor the day ahead of me, not even the present - just blank. My fingers felt something - a fold of loose paper pressed in my pockets and their wrap on my back-side.

A glimmer of hope, an expectation of something great! Could it be the twenty-dollars I always hear about people finding randomly in their old clothes? Could it be an old note from a friend I had stuck close as a keepsake? Maybe an old to-do list? A supernaturally endowed note with a picture of the girl I am to marry some-day? Possibly some-sort of guide that reveals who I am and what job to pursue. Maybe it is an old treasure map of my childhood, waiting for years to once again throw me into it's mystery, and seeking after lost adventures?
It was a receipt, bland and nearly dissolved, completely white and starchy from at least two terms with my washer and drier.

I long, seek, and expect the prodigious, but keep finding the mundane.