Mr. Postman

02.06.2006Osebno

Normally, I hate postmen. They come way too early or way too late, they ring the bell like they have a crocodile on their back or they are bleeding internally from every organ available and then they don`t let you take the mail because you are not your own father. Or mother. Or sibling. Whatever.

This morning started no differently. The doorbell almost fell off the handle and I had to rush down, pulling up my pants with one hand and fumbling for the keys and glasses with the other. “Goddamit!” I muttered “another one of pointless mail deliveries where somebody ordered something that has nothing to do with me!

The postman was there and already he managed to stuff several promotion leaflets into the mailbox. However, there were two interesting items on the floor. One postcard and a package labeled Amazon.com “Hurray!” I chimed and opened the door. Of course the the bundle that the postman was holding was not for me, but the sight of previously mentioned two items made the situation a lot better.

The postcard was from Novala as she is currently spending her time in Canada. Thanks a lot!

The book was a result of a collaboration with the Fredy Miler`s manager, Beebee the penguin, who was kind enough to offer her plastic money in return for some hardcore cash. Many thanks!