A round pillbox rolled from under the backseat of my Opel station wagon.
Cost Plus, I thought when I saw it, an Indian import,
brass with oblong insets of vermillion plastic, curious jewels.

I pried the recalcitrant lid open with the edge of dime. Nothing. Not a thing.
Carleton or one of them must have dropped it when we drove down to South San Gabriel
earlier that day to score. I thought for sure I was going to find something I wanted inside.

The empty box tumbled around on the floor of the backseat for at least two more years.

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