“I want heavy black plastic spiral binding with clear plastic covers on the front and back,” I said.

He opened the folder and leafed through the notarized bank sheets, checking the margins against his computer screen.

“This’ll take about twenty minutes,” he said.

I stood by the front window, watching snow melt on the sidewalk while the machine hummed and pushed white sheets out of its tray.

Once the clerk had punched the holes along the left edge, he threaded the black plastic spiral comb through the pages and pushed the binding lever down firmly.

He laid three thick, matching bound booklets on the counter.