He presses a button on the cash register, and blank receipt paper rolls out of the slot on the top. He hands me #400. I devour the cover with my eyes as he rips the receipt paper off and jots down his number. When he reaches for the book again, I jerk it away, thinking Mine!
“I just want to put this in there so you don’t lose it,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to calm a hostile beast.
“Oh.” I hand him the book. He slides the piece of paper behind the last page. “Can I get a bag? I don’t want it to get any sun damage.”
The bag might be another piece of evidence I’ll have to find a hiding place for, but I might never have the guts to come back to The Phoenix. I want a memento, darn it.