Raven, Black... ~ Bogdan Zwir
The street slapped him with a noise writ in smoke and dust. The residents of this little town (it seemed to Atom) were in a hurry to get to destinations so diverse that no two could possibly be the same. And yet, Atom realised they all looked the same; as if all painted by the same artist (perhaps even in the artist’s own image).
Atom walked down the street, passed green hedges, passed a post office and a police station; passed a courthouse and a prison.
He stopped and returned to the Post Office.
The man behind the counter was very busy. He stared out at Atom while busying himself with a tuneless whistle.
Atom stood and waited for the man to be ready to serve him.
The man raised his eyebrow (which spanned the full width of his forehead), “Yes sir?”
“Um…” Atom cleared his throat, “Do you have any letters for me?”
“No sir,” said the man, “This is a post office, not a letterbox”
He paused for an moment of a duration prescribed by official waiting guidelines before continuing, “If sir would like to receive letters from this particular post office” said the man, pulling a blue form B567(B1) toward himself, “sir would need to hire a letterbox”
“That sounds like a good idea” said Atom
“What size would sir require?”
“Well, it would need to be small enough to fit in my pocket” said Atom
“In what name would sir like to register the letterbox?”
“Well… up until a little earlier today I thought my name was Atom but this now appears not to be true.”
“Very interesting sir,” he emitted with a sigh that contradicted his words, “Atom is it?”
In rather neat handwriting he wrote the word “ATOM, MR.” and then “PO-Box[4]” on the blue form B567(B1).
“There will be a small administration charge added to the rental fee sir” said the man, raising his mono-brow once more but keeping his eyes on the blue paper.
“I don’t have any money,” said Atom, “but I could trade you this tie”
Atom walked down the street, passed green hedges, passed a post office and a police station; passed a courthouse and a prison.
He stopped and returned to the Post Office.
The man behind the counter was very busy. He stared out at Atom while busying himself with a tuneless whistle.
Atom stood and waited for the man to be ready to serve him.
The man raised his eyebrow (which spanned the full width of his forehead), “Yes sir?”
“Um…” Atom cleared his throat, “Do you have any letters for me?”
“No sir,” said the man, “This is a post office, not a letterbox”
He paused for an moment of a duration prescribed by official waiting guidelines before continuing, “If sir would like to receive letters from this particular post office” said the man, pulling a blue form B567(B1) toward himself, “sir would need to hire a letterbox”
“That sounds like a good idea” said Atom
“What size would sir require?”
“Well, it would need to be small enough to fit in my pocket” said Atom
“In what name would sir like to register the letterbox?”
“Well… up until a little earlier today I thought my name was Atom but this now appears not to be true.”
“Very interesting sir,” he emitted with a sigh that contradicted his words, “Atom is it?”
In rather neat handwriting he wrote the word “ATOM, MR.” and then “PO-Box[4]” on the blue form B567(B1).
“There will be a small administration charge added to the rental fee sir” said the man, raising his mono-brow once more but keeping his eyes on the blue paper.
“I don’t have any money,” said Atom, “but I could trade you this tie”
[4]POcket letterBOX
4 comments:
I think it's time you named that tie. It's a character in its own right.
How about... Cheshire?
Yeah, fine... if you don't name it, that's what I'm gonna call it in my head.
Jeff: you gotta slow down on the coffee mate :)
no---not the tie!!
just kidding. this transaction was calling out to be borne.
i like how you are using the tuneless tunes and the conveyer belt feel of the environment in this one.
Harlequin: The tie may be gone but its spirit will remain ;)
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