The Last Box

Saturday morning 10:05 am. I was going to drive back to the farm to meet a potential buyer of some of my moving sale pieces. He cancelled. No choice but to continue to tackle the stuff here at the loft. There it is, sitting quietly amongst his already cleared peers. The last packed box of kitchen stuff. I stare at it. It stares back. Open me? Do you have space to put my content? I have a slight advantage. I can guess what is in that box. When you are the last box, you lose the edge. Ten minutes, and it was all over. All, Over.