My newspaper deliverer “Dolores L.”
It’s not the first time I’ve written to you, Dolores L.
As I’ve asked more than a handful of times in the past year, where was my New York Times this morning? Sure, it had snowed and rained yesterday, and it was a bit icy this morning. So what. We had a package on the doorstep this morning–a stork didn’t deliver it, Dolores L.–and surely we’ll have some mail in the box later today. (Unless, of course, Congress decides to grand the U.S. Postal Service its five-day workweek and gives the guys and gals in pale blue today off.)
We commuters are creatures of habit, Dolores L., and if we don’t have our papers to read in the morning, it screws our routine up big-time.
I didn’t have time to buy a Times at the Station Deli, Dolores L., so I grabbed a freebie AM NY from the red box at Hummerville Station. I was concerned that the skimpy paper would not successfully sate me throughout a 48-minute ride, so I grabbed two copies of AM NY. (I know that doesn’t make sense. That’s what happens when commuters have their routines messed up.) There are major world events happening these days, Dolores L., and I’m afraid I’m in the dark about them this morning. Thanks to you.
I keep thinking of that Christmas card you left for us last month, Dolores L., your name (“Dolores L.”) and address clearly spelled out so we’d kick you a Christmas tenner. Well, I was going to do that, Dolores L., but, ya know, it was icy, and cold, and, well, I just never got around to delivering it.
You know how it is.
Dissatisfyingly,
Trainjotting