By Sorbus
I left the letters where I’d dropped them, and apparently, somehow, teleported to the tiny front porch. OK, so maybe I walked up there without paying any attention, rereading and rereading his words. I didn’t even notice I’d knocked over Squatsie, the Garden Gnome in a sasquatch costume (come on, weirder things have been seen in the Pacific Northwest, right?).
I sat down with a thump, gasping as those not-anywhere-close-to-healing bruises hit the wooden boards that desperately needed a repainting. I reread the words one final time, then looked up, the hairs rising on the back of my neck. How’d he know I’d been eating at Mickey D’s? I reached up, brushing the sesame seeds out of the 3-day stubble around my mouth. No, there’s no way. He must have been guessing. There were only two fast food places in town here, and there’s no way I would ever eat at local grease pit.
I snorted, ‘kicked puppy’? Kicked puppy indeed! Ha! OK, so maybe my fellow grad student ‘office bestie’ had called me the same thing just a few hours ago. But surely this was just a coincidence! I looked at the post mark, realizing there. . . wasn’t actually one. Wait a minute! There wasn’t even a stamp!
