They were just four little photos taken in a Photo Booth, folded over with the best one showing on top. A long haired boy of 19 looking remarkably like Rasputin, the Mad Monk, except for the smile. That had nothing manic about it. What’s a cheap photo like that worth? Nothing, unless it’s yours. I know the story of the photo, when and where it was taken, how long ago and how it came to be where it was.
It was taken at such a happy time, school was finished forever, University not yet started and he was about to embark on an exciting journey across Europe with his girlfriend. When the photos came out of the slot they were pored over and laughed at then given to his girlfriend who put them safe in her wallet. They went with her wherever she went and eventually that meant across the other side of the world to a new life.
As wallets wore out and were replaced the photos found a new home in the new wallet until the day an angry young man wrenched open a filing cabinet and stole the wallet. The photos were gone. Lost. Forever.
Musings of a Retiring Person 