I asked her for a certified copy of the page.

“You’ll need a subpoena to get the original,” she said.

“But I can give you a copy.”

She went over to the copier in the corner, and I stood there with my hand flat on the counter, counting the empty spaces on the page.

At five I came in through the bakery door, and Enzo looked up from behind the register.

“You look like a woman who skipped her lunch,” he said.