Bidder Number Forty-Seven Offers Three Hundred Five Thousand for the Kearney Farm
I picked up the blue pen tied to the clipboard by a string and signed my full name on the bottom line.
The clerk took the clipboard back and checked the signature.
He reached into a clear plastic tub on the ground.
“You’re registered,” he said.
He handed me white bidding card forty-seven.
I ran my thumb over the thick black number.
The cardboard was stiff and cold.
“Let’s find a spot out of the wind before it starts,” I said.
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