This morning in the post office the manager rudely asked me to leave. The reason he said, was that some junky had shat in the foyer. An accident he protested. Now I am not sure as to whether this indeed justifies my not being able to collect my packet of herbs from Afghanistan . Impatiently I waited for weeks, often unable to sleep. Late yesterday afternoon this hand came through my slot and dropped a card onto the carpet. Parcel awaiting collection it said. It breaks a person. My beat doll is torn. Having to wait until morning. There remains a stampede in my skin. I waited on the steps for 14 hours. I was the first through the door. I don't even know how that junky got in. I felt like Jerry in the Flaming Globes of Sigmund. Deflected from the dream at the very last minute, stared down by the rude child who owns the swingset. Told I can't use the trampoline, that I exceed
the height limit or some such rubbish. It's just not acceptable, so I thought I'd protest, hence this letter. Hope you get it.