They each walked up to the counter with the same slow pace. Every one of them dragging their heels, and every one of them carrying same sullen, but desperate, look on their face. At the counter they would ask the same type of question, “I am looking for black little box,” or “I can’t find the locket I had yesterday,” or “My bag is missing, is it here?” And each time the clerk would take the description, and rummage through the box under behind the counter.
Every morning, the was box filled to the brim with new lost stuff. And throughout the day it never seemed to empty. There was always something for someone. Sometimes the clerk would search through the box for three seconds, and other times for a few minutes. Whenever the clerk found something that matched the description, he would hand it over to the customer, and the customer always took a minute or two to look it over. They never handed anything back, or never said “this is not what I am looking for.” The clerk actually had no idea if he found the right object. Nor did he much care.
Each person searching for their lost trinket, bag, box, or what have you, never made any expression that they found what they were looking for. They just held their possession tightly in their hand, and with same slow pace walked out the exit on the right. The clerk would watch them leave the building, but never really paid attention to which door they took.
Late in the day on the clerk’s four thousandth straight day of searching for belongings for uncaring customers, a young customer walked up to the counter carrying them self in the same slow pace, and asked for a bronze pendant. The clerk searched for five minutes in the box of lost items, and finally found one matching the description. The young customer examined it and held it tightly in their hand and walked away. Near the exit, she stopped, looked at the pendant again, turned around, and walked through the exit left.