A Starbucks table napkin found, stuck between pages 156 and 157 of a book--a collection of essays, to be specific--told me I might have brought this book with me on one of my frequent stays at the coffee shop. The napkin's edges were yellowed, and I hadn't taken the book out of the shelf in a long while, besides, so that particular trip to caffeine-and-laziness land must've been some years back.

This encounter with a napkin isn't really something to be made much out of, but I being I, my mind wandered a little, away from the paragraph I was reading, following my eyes as they landed on the rectangular, light brown object, lying flat on the desk. 

I wondered about that day and hour, irretrievable as they are from my cache of memories, when I had stuck this napkin between these pages; wondered about how I was-- my frame of mind, my mood, my clothes, my view, my companion (if there was), the weather. What song was playing in the store? Were they playing any, at all?

It is a blank that I draw, of course. Aside from its discolored edges, there was nothing in the napkin that provided any sort of explanation, or clue, that would have enlightened my musings.  There was neither an actual memory to anchor a memory on, nor an actual measurement of time and distance to base a recollection from. I had to shake off some unexpected wish to, somehow, go back to that time and place.

Some passing regret over not having scribbled anything on the napkin's surface, that time, flits by. And that must be why this bit is posted here, at all.