The building was old and dilapidated. The clerk behind the counter was pacing it on both counts. I was the only customer.
"I'd like a first class stamp," I said.
"What?" the man grunted without looking up. He was engrossed in a palm book he was holding just below the surface of the counter.
"A first-class stamp," I repeated. "I have a letter to mail."
The man raised the palm book and snapped it shut with a practiced flick of his wrist. But not before I caught a glimpse of the image on its screen. It had definitely been pornographic.
"A letter?" he asked, eyes widening. It was as if I'd told him I'd spotted a rare bird perched upon his shoulder.
"Yes, a letter!" I held it up in front of his face. He was quickly beginning to irritate me. "You do sell stamps here?"
The man gave the letter a rather fishy and uncomfortable look. Ignoring my question, he came back with one of his own. "Why don't you just send it over the Net?"
)
