Later on, in those instances where the legality of the scaffolding itself was at issue, either due to questionable structure or lack of a permit, things got more complex, and I had to adopt whatever role was necessary to acquire proof.
Legal or not, the scaffolding and also the archive mark the erasure of places where we played, worked, loved, mourned and buried our dead.
And here she grows pensive: In the long run, given half a chance, water will win. Dams burst, bridges drown, buildings soften like sponges. Where we walk today may be flooded tomorrow. Transience is all … The last archive entry is dated today, September 19th, 2008. The key to the code is on the folder itself and repeated as a legend on each chart. You’ll find the full record in a flat waterproof box under your front step, behind a screen of weeds.
My deceptions (and my wardrobe) , she writes, remembering… were, though I say it myself, quite inventive.
(I imagine she smiled writing this.) Distinguishing the detective from the criminal is always a challenge for the authorities. Still, they nevertheless managed to find me, and my ongoing brushes with the law were well-documented.
(This must have happened while I was away.)
Please remember, there is no copy.
Mapping greed, she writes, the words underlined, … Mapping greed is a thankless task.
Do what you want with this: Reminisce. Advocate. Grieve. Write.
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