Look! Piles of them. Mountains, even. Mashed into the glove box and sticking out at the hinge.
Covering the floor like carpet, with mudprints and crumbs and Doritos stains. Down inside the seat beyond the reach of my fingers.
The date on this one reads, “November 1, 2007,” but I don’t even remember getting it.
It seems the city has wasted whole forests on me.
