A copy of Kafka's The Metamorphosis and book one of Ovid's The Metamorphoses tied together with some string he picked up at the general store. Inside the Kafka book, he's written the following by hand, and in quotes to indicate it is not original:
"To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers."
and then, underneath it, without quotes:
"Thank you for your help, Debbie. I wish all the best for you. Hope to see you again under less capricious circumstances.
left beside the bucket for preservation purposes