Angol
Forsyth sat on the step of the parking lot office reading the Monday morning newspaper. The same little tombstone notice had appeared in the paper three times now, just like clockwork. He wasn't given to reading the paper's legal notices, but a news clipping containing a foreclosure notice on the lot had been mailed to Harry by Fidelity Union Bank a few weeks earlier, and he'd opened it by mistake. Since then, he'd located it in the paper and read it for himself every week. He was fascinated to see his brother's name in the paper amidst all that legal jargon. It wasn't often that anything about his family was worthy of print. The last time was his father's obituary. It seemed that the occasions were always sad ones. But then, so was just about everything else in the newspaper. According to the notice, an auction of the lot would take place on the steps of the county courthouse a week from Tuesday at nine thirty. The public was invited to attend and submit bids. He could go. He was a member. As a matter of fact, the public was the only group he belonged to.
