I wonder for a long while, contemplating who the woman is, what is her name? I turn over the photograph and find written, squiggled in pencil, Josephine. A few weeks later whilst in a junk shop I find a letter written to Alice. I decide to make them friends. They shall be terribly good friends. 

 Mr. A Ferguson owns a post office savings book, his name is written ever so neatly in blue ink on the first page. I decide that somebody so neat should own some correcting fluid, for the mistakes made in the future. He should keep all of these important necessities in a brown suitcase, to match his brown shoes.

 Discovering and making connections, I now see things that are not really there and take great satisfaction in doing so. I have arranged the items, grouped them together to uncover a history that I know does not exist. So intriguing is the trace of people, that they perform for me the stories of the past.