The Man Who Collected Lost Shopping Lists

Every morning, he’d walk the parking lot with a paper bag and a patient eye. Crumpled lists lay half-soaked and wind-tossed, each one a fragment of some forgotten intention.

He’d smooth them flat at home, lining them in binders labeled “Urgent,” “Hopeful,” and “Unfinished.” He said it helped him feel connected—to what, he never said.

Some lists were beautiful in their brevity:

– Bananas

– Tape

– Apology

Others were frantic, existential:

– Batteries

– Patience

– Find the good plates

When asked what he planned to do with them all, he shrugged. “They were once part of someone’s plan,” he said. “I just like to see where people stop.”