My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

not to disturb the metal frame.

My fingers brushed against something stiff and flat.

I slid my hand deeper under the heavy fabric, my knuckles scraping against the blue plastic lining of the mattress cover.

My fingers clamped onto the edge of a thin manila folder.

I pulled it out, the rough paper scraping softly against the metal springs beneath.

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