the post office

my brown bike-white wheels- rolled down lorain to the front steps of the post office near 66th: a brick building, nondescript, with, to the left, a parking lot and loading dock behind a chain-link fence. I swung my leg over the top tube and carried my frame inside, parking the bike against a radiator and joining the line around a small center island. the wait was short. i handed the clerk an envelope, the contents pressing the paper into a funny shape, and stared to my right at the poster advertising the latest stamp designs. contemplating buying a sheet decorated with images of various appliances and twirling my hair, my distraction broke as the man weighing the parcel i'd handed over the counter said, with a smile, "Don't even bother looking, because I don't have anything on that poster!"

he and i exchanged chuckles, and instead of pictures of sewing machines and eggbeaters, the clerk offered me a sheet of stamps with an environmentally-minded theme. i thumbed through my wallet, looking for cash, and the gentleman allowed me to purchase a half-sheet in light of the small number of bills that i found.

i bid the clerk good day and said to enjoy the sunshine through the window (finally, sunshine, after a week of rain!) and as i walked away, he replied that he liked the view of it all: sun, rain, snow.

someone entering as i left held the door open for me and my bike, and the warmth of the mailclerk's joviality spilled out to meet the warmth of the sun on the road.