Living in Orlando has robbed me of quite a few things over the years. Most notably, I haven’t seen an actual mailbox in all that time. Well, I have, just not a fun mailbox with one of those flags, so the mailman knows when there is something in there for him. In return, you always know when the mail comes so you don’t walk outside like an asshole a few times a day, returning with empty hands.
All I ever had in Orlando was a lock box at the end of the street or gathered somewhere in the maze of an apartment complex, surrounded by other lock boxes of other residents. It was like a prison for mail. Nothing quaint or fun about that at all.
But in my new crib, in the midst of the sticks, I finally have a mailbox again. She is a stained white (from years of weathered abuse) plastic box with an equally weathered flag that raises proudly whenever she contains letters that need to be sent. She is indeed a glorious bastard (and this was drawn without a mouse).
Mailbox of Doom (7/2008)