I thought my days were all the same: black coffee in my old copper pot, crosswords, and the neighbor who insisted I needed her more than I wanted. But the morning the postman knocked with a bundle of letters lost for twenty years, everything changed. I always wake up at six a.m., even if I have nowhere to go.
Old habit from my years at the post office. Once your body gets used to early mornings, it won’t let you sleep in. My alarm clock is the creak in my knees and the complaints in my back.
Some people meditate, some scroll through the news on their phones. Me? I brew coffee in my father’s old copper cezve.
And yes, I drink it black, no sugar. My dad used to say,
Whether he was right or not, it had become my ritual. The moment I sat down with my paper, the window sighed.
That’s Gloria peeking in from her yard. She always knows when I’m awake. I swear she sets her watch by my coffee.
“Morning, Walter!” Her voice was like a kettle just before it whistles. “You’re up early. Again.”
“Gloria, it’s called discipline,” I muttered behind the paper.
“Some of us have it.”
Five minutes later, she was already at my porch with a basket. Inside: buns and jam, innocent-looking, but I knew better. They were her ticket inside.
“Thought you could use some company,” she said, handing me the basket. She chuckled. “Walter, you can’t spend all your days with puzzles.
This house is too big for one person. You need someone here. Someone like… well, me.”
I set the basket down on the step.
“You mean someone to boss me around? My late wife already held that title.”
“Don’t be cruel. I care about you.
Who else checks if you’ve taken your pills? You think Ray, the postman, will do that?”
As if on cue, a knock thundered at the door. Gloria frowned, annoyed at the interruption.
I opened it and blinked at the sight of Ray holding a thick bundle of envelopes in both arms. He shifted on his feet, sheepish. “Well, uh… there’s been a bit of a mishap at the depot.
Some letters… didn’t get delivered. For a while.”
“Speak clearly,” I barked. “How long is a while?”
Before I could reach for the letters, Gloria darted forward and snatched the bundle from his hands.
“That can’t be! All these addressed to—” She stopped herself, clutching them tight. “Gloria, give them here,” I said.
The story doesn’t end here – it continues on the next page.
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