While walking around the North Beach area of San Francisco, I discovered this cork abandoned in the gravel under a tree. A champagne cork, perhaps fired out the window of a nearby apartment.

A bottle of Korbel champagne had been opened so that mimosas could be served with brunch. The discarded cork rested on the granite counter in the kitchen. Surrounded by the aroma of waffles cooking and the sound of guests on the back porch laughing, the spent cork appeared content.

For some, a collection of corks embodied the history of wine consumed. That fine Australian bottle of Silver Oak, gone in an instant the night the car was wrecked. That cheap, marked down cabernet from the corner store sipped with veal the night Tony visited. Each cork a memory. The bowl of corks served best overflowing.