Word: mailboxes
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...Arizona, one of the warmest bookshops on earth. Her name is Winifred Bundy, and her establishment is called the Singing Wind. You go north out of Benson on the Ocotillo Road, cross the train tracks and proceed 2 1/4 miles across a cattle guard to the shot-up mailbox -- SINGING WIND, it says, a careworn advertisement that is easy to miss -- where you hang a right on dirt, continue a quarter of a mile, open a gate, close it behind you and continue another quarter of a mile past horses, cows and a pair of feuding cats. The trail pays...
...woman came by at around 5 p.m. empty-handed. "Would you like to use the mailbox, ma'am?" I asked. She declined. But half an hour later, she returned, laden with three letters...
Other people were equally grateful. The mailman came by at 5:30 to pick up the day's letters. Meanwhile, we were offering people the chance to use the mailbox before it closed. The trusty letter carrier waved us a fond goodbye after doing his duty, saying "thanks a lot guys, see you tomorrow...
Steve was instrumental in preventing a woman from using the mailbox after last call. He told her that the last pickup had been made and she should use the post office if she hoped to get her letter out before the weekend. She too thanked us and remarked on how helpful we were...
Others were more confused than our mailbox patrons. "What, a real dollar?" they would ask. "What's the catch?" As we were explaining to one young woman that there was no catch, a destitute-looking man joined our conversation. "A real dollar?" he said in a gruff voice...