Seeing those little boxes lined up is a reminder of the reach of civilization in the furthest corners of the Homeland, so zealously guarded and so insouciantly allowed to decay.
The mails are out there in the open, untouchable by convention except by their owners, who live secreted away behind fearsome signs.
I shall miss the postal service if it should die off completely before I fall off my perch. But I do hope the afterlife will spare me the sight of any more grumpy No Trespassing commands.
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