Atom looked inside the letterbox (it was empty) before closing its flap and putting it in his inside breast pocket. The man smoothed the (rather impressive) blue, red and white striped tie to his chest, appearing (If Atom had cared to see) to be under the impression that he’d got the better end of the deal.
Perhaps he had, since he certainly looked more important that he had when Atom had first entered the post office.
Atom stood outside the post office, the letter box in his pocket filled him with a puffed up sense of achievement. (And why not, dear reader? After all, not every man can claim ownership of such prestigious tokens of success, especially not a man so young).
As the man from the post office appeared to suddenly remember something important, consulting a rather important looking red ledger, Atom felt himself to be a man of substance (although he was not sure which particular substance); he felt he had become a man to be reckoned with.
“Oi you” the man said, straightened his tie, “Give me back that PO-Box immediately; you’ve supplied me with false credentials,” he held out his hand, palm upward.
“Wha…?”
“Your name cannot be Atom: Atom is buried in the yard behind the church” he lifted his hand and shook his head, “The PO-Box sir?”
“Give me back my tie then”
“It’s not your tie sir”
Atom ran down the road with his hand pressed against his breast lest the PO-Box fall from his pocket.
Perhaps he had, since he certainly looked more important that he had when Atom had first entered the post office.
Atom stood outside the post office, the letter box in his pocket filled him with a puffed up sense of achievement. (And why not, dear reader? After all, not every man can claim ownership of such prestigious tokens of success, especially not a man so young).
As the man from the post office appeared to suddenly remember something important, consulting a rather important looking red ledger, Atom felt himself to be a man of substance (although he was not sure which particular substance); he felt he had become a man to be reckoned with.
“Oi you” the man said, straightened his tie, “Give me back that PO-Box immediately; you’ve supplied me with false credentials,” he held out his hand, palm upward.
“Wha…?”
“Your name cannot be Atom: Atom is buried in the yard behind the church” he lifted his hand and shook his head, “The PO-Box sir?”
“Give me back my tie then”
“It’s not your tie sir”
Atom ran down the road with his hand pressed against his breast lest the PO-Box fall from his pocket.
4 comments:
He... he... he abandoned Cheshire?
Jeff: It was a noose around his neck; much better off with the PO-Box.
ah, the plot thickens....
atom, you can run but you can't hide.... perhaps??
Harlequin: are there any areas of the maze where it is possible to hide?
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