Shoe polish applied daily will ensure that it is true. Clifford snickers. Something reminiscent of his old self poking through the scar tissue. Excited in Iowa, Clarice Red Sealing up the envelope, he kisses the outside, facetiously, for good measure. And, without a second thought, plops it into the empty, outgoing mail, forgetting about it soon after. R Ding. Clifford looks expectantly towards the front door. A woman fills the space, face bitten, a single wispy breath marks the air, leaving as quickly as it had appeared, before the outside world is once again shut away. Golden light peeking through the glass falls just across the front of the shop, warming the room. Piano keys echo the mood, as Clifford hums along to the crooning of Al Bowlly spilling from his small office. “Hello Mary” he pushes out, quick to hide his disappointment. “Why hello, Clifford. Staying toasty in here?” She acknowledges, slipping one glove off her nimble fingers at a time. Pulling on his lap blanket quickly, as if to reassure her, he meets her eyes with a nervous smile. “Sure am.” She stares just a second too long, he notices, as she shakes her jacket off her shoulders. Turning back towards his book, he quickly ends the conversation in favor of the written word instead. R Fresh snow blankets the trees, shrubs, and buildings, covering everything in a sparkly, clean white. A large pile of snowpack covers the old desk, dumped on the curb until it could be taken away. Alice shovels the sidewalks. Through the fresh slush and sand, pink and red peak through. Business is slow. Clifford sits near the large window, watching life crawl by. Icicles hanging from the gutters above, filled with a frozen pulpy mess, refract the light like diamonds, creating beautiful patterns on the hard wood floor. With a stained handkerchief in one hand and a handful of letters clutched to his chest with the other, he waits patiently. His eyes follow the movement outside, the mail slot creaks, and a bundle hits the welcome mat on the floor with a thud. A slow smile crawls across his gaunt face. R Page 49
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