A few years ago I spent the better part of my visit to an antique mall pouring over a 1930s photo album, full of pictures of a group of friends picnic outings, and other adventures. I still regret not buying it. Now every time I see a scrapbook I open it up hoping to find a collection of pictures (it seems most have them taken out), and in the back of my mind hoping it will be that one collection of pictures I left behind. So the other day when I opened this unassuming black scrapbook, I was…
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