My fingernails scratch the black metallic surface, skin prickling. I run my hand over the red flag, flicking it up and down for a moment. I do not have to wait, because I know already the postman has come and gone, but I am nervous. I am afraid, unsure, and not ready to be disappointed.
I push through it though. I clasp the plastic knob and pull, listening the sharp creak, metal against metal. The lid falls, bouncing on its hinges before resting. It is dark in the box, and my hand creeps in. I feel forward, hairs sticking up on my arms, shivering against the the cold surface. I reach the back and sigh.
No mail today. No one wishes to talk.
