I've decided to title anything regarding Bran/Brian with his initials, "BJM."

It was a dark and stormy morning. Waded through one-inch puddles into the Security Station before 1 Police Plaza to finally pick up Bran's items at the Property Clerk's Office. Still a long line. LaBelle was working the ID machine today with a little less edge. "How do I look," I said as she pressed the "button" to take my picture. I typed my name in: LAWRENC4. "There's no 4 in your name." Start over and press NEXT.

Standing at the doorway of the basement office of the Property Clerk, "C'mon in, honey. No need to be shy." Sorry, something about going to Catholic school has made me feel guilty and shy around nuns and cops. I felt weird about signing papers stating I received what I had come for when I actually hadn't, so I kept the receipt book close at hand and facing me as the clerk went to search for the belongings. I was prepared to insert "not" between "have" and "received" just in case. I'm such an anarchist. She opened the envelope, cut open the clear, plastic bag and emptied the contents.

An "In case of death" card that Bran had created and had laminated. Driver's license, one year old, reflecting his most recent look. SS Card, with his new name. Old wallet. Keys. Several Credit Cards that she cut in half and pushed toward me. No need to cut them, the boy hasn't made payments in three months.

"That's all there is," she said.

"Nope. That's just the beginning."