The trunk remains darkly closed.
I found some displacement activity, although it turned out to displace more than I expected.
I had to post a letter. I asked Google for the nearest Post Office. Of course, being Google, it showed me every post office in the universe, and left me to narrow things down a bit. The one I picked turned out to be the local sorting office. Dulcie did rather better, and found a real post office next door.
Where I was faced with a longish queue and an "APC" (Automated Postal Centre?). I really only wanted to get the correct stamp for whatever weight of letter I had, so, always game for new experience, I went for the ATC. Which promptly started an inquisition: of jesuitical proportions. For example, it wanted to know if my letter was "rigid". Well, depends, dunnit? I wouldn't have considered it "rigid", but the USPS might. The man waiting behind me had no doubt noticed I had one slim letter. He was becoming agitated. I was getting much more "experience" than I had bargained for, so I quietly admitted failure and joined the counter queue: quite a few places behind where I would have been if I gone straight there.
When I got to the counter, there was another inquisition. I was sending someone a stamped-addressed-envelope, so they could return something. The letter wasn't sealed, because, well, the stamped-addressed-envelope still needed its stamp, didn't it?. The counter clerk wanted to know if I was going to put anything else in the envelope. Well, I was, wasn't I? Jacques Tati would have done it much better. Everyone would have known to laugh. Instead of getting cross, like they did. Eventually, I lied my way out of trouble.
Later that night, I finished Cormac McCarthy's "The Road". It's very good.
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