“Rules?” asked the storekeeper.
They stood in an army disposal store that sold all manner of things. Together they inspected the old printer’s tray.
“For the collection. They must be found on the beach, for example.”
“A shell collection!”
“Every item must be different. Netting, driftwood, a coin.”
“Found objects.” The storekeeper was proud of this term, something he had heard an artist say once.
The man allowed it.
“I have seventeen. But my wife wants the kitchen table back.”
The storekeeper counted. “This has eighteen spaces.”
“Another rule: never finish the collection.”
This is Friday Flash Fiction. Picture supplied by Claire Fuller.