Streetrag ::: An Urban Notebook ::: Podcast

Millwrights never work late and their shop is dead empty. A few scraps of wood in the lot right beside the dirty truck tracks. Maybe enough to forge a toothpick or maybe a small splint. The post office depot isn’t a post office proper. They just have a red box in the front yard and an office and sorting plant in the back. Compelling tonight though, because someone left on the two-lamp chain-hung fluorescent fixture. A square of white light spills onto the pale grass outside. It’s beautiful somehow, and if only I had a stamp and en envelope, I’d mail one for old times sake.