Post Office Freeform by H.R. McGonigal

Out in the town today I observe life as we know it as we collectively know it as we cumulatively know it I focus on the men
in the post office in their freshly clean laundered shirts and corduroy pants fresh like only beach town people know it fresh
like salt water and sun and a short haircut and a tan fresh like weekends at the beach all your life all your small town life
and the smell of the clothes and the laundry you wear is fresh fresh fresh but the woman behind me in line is a stain is a
scourge is a blight is not one of you she keeps barging through the silence with her terror she talks post office trivialities a
Quasimodo short and hunched like a witch like a post office witch she mumbles to herself, Oh that's a mighty big package
and Oh that's a mighty excited little youngster and she stands so close she is my Quasimodo shadow so close that her
purse swings and hits and caresses the back of my knee and I wonder what odd spirit is this amongst all this white
freshness all this superb freshness and the song on the radio says, What a wonderful world this would be, what a glorious
time to be free
and that makes a lot of sense to me those words sure do that makes a lot of sense to me.

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