While I was working on the basement this weekend, I found a wallet in the wall. Really. It's from 1966 or so. It has an ID, a social securit card, a note from a girl, a golf schedule, and absolutely no money.
Now I must wonder to myself: how much life is like art, or art life. I should dig up this fellow and see if he wants his wallet back. Was he called to duty in Vietnam? Did he survive? Did he go to college? Did he become a used car salesman? Who knows.
More as this unfolds.
