Snail Mail

snail mail is love in action

Back in my day, there was no email. There was just mail, and it wasn’t called snail mail either.

After six days had elapsed, Esther Noh received a letter from her beloved Arthur Treacherous. Everyday since his departure, Esther would sit on the stoop, drink coffee, smoke a Cuban cigar and groom her fabulous mustache, waiting for the mailman, appropriately named Marple Postman, Marp for short.

Esther grabbed the letter and immediately ran up the stairs, two steps at a time. Her breath quickened as she held the letter up to the sunlight. Her shaky hands held the well-worn letter opener, and odd beams of light danced on the wall, corresponding to the rhythm of her nerves.

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