Anyone could guess there was a dustless footprint beneath it. Glasses long ago had left their rings in the wood – making Venn diagrams no math teacher would ever see. The sweat of summers gone trickling down the sides as the ice melted within. This was no place for coasters or central air.
Cheap red paper curled up at the lid’s edge. Likely as not, it once held a dime store trinket from some nameless Valentine.
Empty now, covered with fingerprint dust. The red box – another memento for the man to painfully, briefly regard. He threw it away with the rest.