Our PO box. I haven't checked it since my mom got re-elected. “Congratulations, school trustee.” Among the cards, there's something here for me, and it's so unexpected. It takes a while to get collected. Check the postmark, do the math. Prepare excuses for your new attack, like, I tried to write a letter but it takes too long. I stutter information when you're calling on the phone. I'm left-handed, I smudge my pencil. On a typewriter, I hunt and peck them all. And all the proof's right here. Another piece of paper where I got as far as "dear...," Waiting there to be recycled. Think of all the trees I've killed because I couldn't bear to write your name. Now nothing's going to be the same at all. Drag you off the plane and push you in a cab. Find a film to go to: "The Double Life of Veronique." It's a block from here, so we won't have to speak. Saw a band after the movie. I think they were called the Bonaduces. I said, "They're irritating, can we please leave?" For once I wasn't lying through my teeth. Chorus.