In March of our second year, the wind blew dark dirt across the hospital parking lot.

I sat at my billing desk at twelve thirty with a turkey sandwich wrapped in a paper towel.

The county newspaper lay open between two thick stacks of unpaid insurance claims.

Page four had three columns of legal notices in tiny black type.

My eyes ran down the bold parcel numbers out of old habit.

I set my sandwich down and leaned over the newsprint.

“Parcel 08-14-300-002,” the notice read.