Thursday I slid some peppers into a packet and took them across the street to the post office to send to England. I told the lady who has been weighing them for years that they were fresh hot
peppers. And she was incredulous. "And they get there alright?" I told her they
always have. Notwithstanding my incredible bad luck with Homaland Security seizing and smashing the crayons I sent to myself, the USPS has always carried some strange cargo. I was taking delivery of a package off a truck once and I spied a large box marked "Live Bees". I asked the carrier and he let me lean in to hear it buzz. That was of course, a long time ago. I think you have to ship bees UPS now.
I may have many hip self-organization apps on my fruity phone, but nothing satisfies like crossing items off a paper to-do list with a pencil. Next! Find myself an office! The corporation I work for has given me the task of setting up a mini production center with a colleague. I think I want to walk to work. Every day there is some fatal accident snarling traffic in the rush hour commute. My third SAAB went ka-blooey, too. There will not be a fourth. My cat has taken to napping on the neighbor's truck hood in its absence. Maybe he wants a Qvale Mangusta convertible.