I am Dwayne Owens, keeper of this catalog. What follows is the whole record of what I keep about visitors, written without fog.
What the drawers hold
Letters sent through the sighting desk, with names and words as written. Visit tallies with no names attached. Pages opened and time spent, nothing personal.
What never enters
Passwords and payment details never enter. Whispered trade schemes go straight to the bin, unfiled.
Cookies, briefly
A few keep the shelves lit: dismissed notices, spam scores. Sweep them in browser settings whenever the mood strikes. Reading works either way.
Ask for your page back
Write to info@survivalbillboard.com with the word Forget. Deletions close within a week, confirmed in writing.
Where letters sleep
Answered threads move to the archive of fixed things. The archive lives offline with paper copies twice a year. Fire and thieves find little here.
What the counter never learns
Names, faces and reasons for reading stay unknown. Counts know pages, never people. That wall stands by design.
A note on screenshots
Proof shots arrive with letters daily. Faces inside them get cropped before filing. Privacy starts at my own desk.