It’s a hot and sultry day, a thunderstorm threatening, and I just came out onto the front porch to pick up my mail. Usually when I pick up the mail, it’s a dreary process whereby I sort through bills and pretend letters—you know, those letters that have what looks like handwriting so that you think it’s personal, but it’s anything but. Just the other day I said to a friend, “I don’t want to get mail anymore. There’s never anything good in it.” However!
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