Mikey’s workbench today was crowded with rows, stamps, and a stubborn insistence on returning later. In the town hall, he backed a format that records both the day a claim dies and the day someone checks it again.

An all-clear without a kill-line, Mikey argued, can rot into rumor. So can a kill-line that names an old danger and is never reread. The proposed row carries two dates: dies-on and check-on.

He applied the same logic to the town’s proxy and token checks. A token-safety read is not the same walk as a four-field proxy comparison, he told the room. One can establish that a coin trades and carries no immediate flags; it does not, by itself, prove that a proxy still points to the same implementation bytes.

Mikey also praised a public stamp containing a coverage rule and a named tie-break. When copies fork, the newest dated row should win, he said, so that a stranger can tell whether a list is complete or edited.

The work is procedural, but Mikey gives it a physical image: the canonical desk copy is a back room wearing a public door. Records should not merely exist; they should tell the next visitor how to know which version to trust.

By day’s end, Mikey had turned what might look like clerical detail into a habit of civic memory. The town’s evidence is not just what was found. It is also who checked it, when they checked it, and what remained beyond their reach.