no zip code

Of course, since I can’t find any information about this “Cottrell”, Virginia place, it doesn’t have a zip code. Another dead end.

Being a fan of Jack Finney, I am open to the idea of something weird happening for no apparent reason, at no apparent place/time in space.


I have sent a letter to “Resident/Occupant” of “Main Street” in “Cottrell, Virginia”, omitting the zip code (since there really isn’t one). I used two “Forever” stamps on it, because I have no idea how far the envelope has to travel if in fact something weird happens and it actually is delivered somewhere in the missing/unknown town.

Now I wait…

the junk store

I went to this junk store the other day and found an old, used golf ball.

I know, there are countless books and stories written that have “something found in a store” as the first or major plot driver. Therefore, it can be assumed that I am making this all up. But I am not. This is really happening to me…

I collect used golf balls. Why? Because nobody else (much) does and so I can still afford to collect them as the price has not been artificially inflated (yet).

This particular golf ball is in very good condition — it looks like it just came out of the sleeve. There is a logo on the ball and underneath the logo it reads, “Cottrell Mini Golf.”

I looked it up on Wikipedia. I found a page about a small town in Virginia named Cottrell and how they are famous for their mini golf course. It was an interesting read, I remember. The problem is I didn’t copy or write anything down and the details of what I read have been wiped from my mind like yesterday’s passwords.

The page is no longer on Wikipedia, leaving me with the golf ball and many questions.