She wants to note down everything, all the details of her life. She finds a receipt and pen in her purse; a small part of her wonders if years from now this old receipt will fossilise and be retrieved by an archaeologist. They would dust off the clay with their delicate little brush, and they would gesture to their colleagues to come see, come look, come bear witness to the past. Look, they would say. Look. There once was a woman and she sat in the pub and these are the things she wrote of her life.
