missing

I got off the bus at West Genesee and West Fayette. A young mother with a toddler and an infant in a stroller struggled to navigate the steps down onto the sidewalk. I let them go and did my best neither to feel nor exude impatience. I stepped onto the sidewalk buffeted by a blast of December wind. Something on the ancient, rutted utility pole caught my eye. What? A Missing Persons poster was stapled on two sides of the pole. I moved closer. There, to my shock and horror, was an unmistakable image of me, under large block letters spelling MISSING with an exclamation point (fortunately, only one instead of the customary three). Below that was a photo of me in my Icelandic sweater, bought in Reykjavik in January 2016. It happens to be one of my favorite self images. My older glasses are bolder, my hair is longer and less gray, and I sport a sexy smirk, or so I've been told. So thanks for that. Anchoring the bottom of the poster "$5,000 Reward" is offered. How is that amount calculated? Is it based on the poster's (as in "one who posts") resources or my putative value? My name is provided. It is spelled correctly, with no middle initial. No information regarding age, reason for missinghood, potential danger to self or others is offered. The only other data provided is that I was last seen at the Solvay Post Office. Last seen, wait for it, today. Today? Is somebody trying to tell me something and what is it? I shook this off, having lingered for who knows how long at the corner absorbing all this. I proceeded west on Fayette toward home. Every utility pole, all eight, had two missing posters stapled onto it. Just me. Nobody else. I kept walking. Evening was descending, as it does so early in December. I quickened my pace. I keenly looked left and right, searching for something or someone, I didn't know what. At the end of the block, I paused and looked in back of me, where I had just traversed. Nothing. I turned left onto Williams Street, toward my apartment building. I decided I would not enter by the main door, at the lobby with the mailboxes. I somehow felt safer entering by the seldom-used back door. As I walked down the six steps to the door, key fob in hand, i halted. Another one on the door. I could have turned away. Turned away to go where? I summoned either courage or foolhardiness, waved the fob, and entered. now my heart was racing. I was sweating. I walked up the stairs to the third floor. I gingerly, and as quietly as I could, strode to apartment 312. Another poster.