The signature strip on the back was blank.

I thought of the ticket under the pineapple magnet, signed in blue ink, the way I had signed them for nineteen years.

My name on the back, clear as a bell.

Arthur set his mug on the counter and missed the coaster by an inch.

I wiped up the ring before it dried.

“You called before seven,” he said.

“On a Wednesday.”

“I did, is all.”