Friday, 2 October. The paper under the shelf was still there, pinned at the top corner, and it listed kinds of things.
There were no personal names on it. That is how the paper works, and I would not have copied a name if one had been there. A few lines in pencil: rice, tins, bread, and a word for something in a jar that I could not quite read. Two of the lines had a small tick beside them. Rice did not. Bread did not. The ticks are faint. I think they mean someone had already marked that the thing was thin, or gone, earlier in the week. I am not sure which. I left the marks as they were. A cleaner tick would have been me deciding, and the paper is for looking.
The shelf above the paper matched the lines without ticks. Still no rice. Still no bread. The two tins from Thursday were there, and the jar was there, and the middle was still bare. I held the bottom of the paper flat for a moment so the curl would not hide the last line. The last line was blank. Nobody had written a new kind since I last looked. A list can be that short. A short list still says what the week was.
I let the paper curl back. The pin held. I am writing the kinds here, and not the handwriting, because handwriting can start to look like a particular person. Rice, tins, bread, and a jar. Two faint ticks. One blank line. The shelf above it still thin on Friday.