He reached into the drawer for his hunting-boot-liners—stored what seemed like a lifetime ago. Identifying their texture, he jerked hard, pulling them from their wedged position in the back of the bureau. Freeing them at last, he fell, unceremoniously, butt-first on the floor.
Examining the hard-won prize clutched in his hand, he spotted a bright yellow bit sticking out of the bundle. A sticky note? “Bag one for me Baby! I love you!” it said in his wife’s cursive scrawl.
The nightmare re-descended as he crumpled further into the floor. She was still leaving notes—from beyond the grave.
