Mailbox

In an old smelly establishment that had a few drinks being served at a counter, which some people might refer to as a bar, a single man in a trench coat entered. Not that it was particularly cold on that autumn day, it was just that, judging by the patches on his coat and the general lack of cleanliness being attributed to the man, he probably didn't have any home where he could put his coat and was carrying it with him.

Still he didn't look down and didn't avert his gaze when somebody looked him in the eye. He walked like some sort of war hero through enemy territory in peaceful times. There was tension in the air as the patrons watched carefully in the barman's direction.

If the guy dared give that man a free drink just because he was lacking food or water or some pussy-ass reason like that they'd get really pissed. They'd worked hard for their money and they didn't want some bum from the street smooching drinks just because he was a bum from the street.

The man sat on a stool before the counter, next to a man who was slouched over, drink in hand, eyes obscured by the dim lighting of the room.

The man didn't acknowledge the proud bum in any way so the man who was sweating in his trench coat and in his greasy unwashed skin decided to open up the conversation.

"Name's Bob. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you the story of how a mailbox took away my fucking girlfriend and sanity." the newly introduced Bob said.

He'd seen the man around this bar, he'd seen mostly everyone that dared call themselves a regular actually. This was a place where cheep alcohol and cheep people gathered after all. And because he was a regular he knew you couldn't get away with buying a man, who you hadn't been seen being friends with, a drink.

Because the stools were close to each other the man simply passed a few dollars to Bob, their combined bulk hiding the dealing.

Bob nodded at the man who seemed to be fixed in his hunched position, moving only, Bob assumed, his eyes to follow what was going on. The shadow caused by the light stilll hid his upper face, only showcasing his nose and jaw. Now that he thought about it, despite being familiar with the man's back and posture, he'd never seen his eyes.

Bob shook his head. It was not his place to pry in other people's business. Even then, had he been a good boy and stayed out of the whole damn mess, maybe he wouldn't be a paranoid bum on the street. Maybe he'd be a regular bum with a home and a job.

With a nod at his direction the barman got to work, getting a bottle and a cup and pouring Bob a drink. The bum placed the currency on the counter and seeing him seemingly pay for himself got the other customers to calm down and gradually go back to playing cards and leading discussions.

"So where do you want me to start my tale of woe. Spice things up with a little romance? Get to the meet of things and give you a scare at my horror or a laugh at my insanity?" Bob asked, hoping the man would react. And react he did. He frowned hard and clutched his half full glass so hard Bob wondered why it hadn't broken yet.

Oh it broke.

The guy didn't seem phased though. Weird. And the barman was giving Bob a look as he cleaned up. It wasn't his fault! Glare at the hardass next to him instead, you blind cocktail machine!

Whatever. He calmed his angry heart.

"Get to the meat of the story, please." The man said shakily, like he was on drugs or something. "No romance, just horror."

"Well I'm horrified at how you just broke a glass in your hand and aren't in pain, but that's probably a story I should be telling to everybody but you, so I'll just go with the story of how my life got ruined." Bob said with the calm smirk of a defeated man, as he happily sipped his drink. "Ah, alcohol, never leave me for a mailbox, my already cracked heart would surely break then."

Bob turned to his listener, who seemed about as interested as he ever was in anything and started speaking.

"It all started when me and my crew were at this party and there was this girl, Jane. Easy, lay, the fellas told me, husband, just recently passed, she was with some girlfriends to help her get her mind off things." Bob reminisced of the girl he once knew, with the shorts that showed off her ass and the paper thin white blouse that showed off her black bra. He hardened his face a bit as he was sure it'd gone soft. "Easy lay the guys told me, in and out, and it was. Thing is, I got too wrapped up and forgot the out part."

Bob chuckled and the man was impassive.

"I know what you're thinking, I can tell by your look. You're thinking: "Are these people too fucking stupid to wear condoms." and the answer is 'no', or 'yes' depending on which you feel means that we are not too stupid to wear condoms. I didn't put a little me in her, but she did put a little her in me and I couldn't stay away from her. She was very fucking nice, friendliest lady I knew."

Bob gave an exaggerated twisted smile.

"Then came the mailbox." he said with bitter joy. "Motherfucking husband died so she was moving out of their old house and got me to help her out. She and her husband had apparently dicked aroud at the supermarket once and had picked a fucking ugly mailbox together. She was very fond of it. It was the only thing she insisted on bringing back to our new home and I agreed."

He shook his head and slouched in a similar manner to his silent drinking buddy. A sip of his drink helped moisturize his throat before he continued with his story.

"Not that I wasn't shocked or suspicious even at first. She was like: "I feel this mailbox calling out to me. It was a very special item to both of use, the first thing we bought together." and I was standing there like: "Why are you rubbing yourself against the damn mailbox?" but I agreed nonetheless. Some things you just can't let go no matter how boring they are and that's a good thing, while others you can."

The man next to him dropped his now empty glass to the floor.

"Yeah just like that!" Bob exclaimed and then he looked around warily at the guys around him glaring at him. Probably think he's the grumpy guy's babysitter or something.

"So anyway I was creeped out by the whole my wife rubbing herself against the mailbox like it's some sorta sex toy thing so I didn't tie it very good to the top of the car." Bob said and leaned back waving his arms around all mysterious like. "But the thing stood on top, didn't fall off. The ropes were undone when I got out and looked at it but it was still there."

"And here's the kicker, she took the damn lovingly under her arm and left me with the unpacking of her old stuff. She locked herself up in her room all private like. While I was going back and forth tossing her junk into the house, you see, she was on the top floor in our bedroom rocking the bed like she was playing jump rope or something?"

A janitor was sweeping the floor of glass shards slowly, looking up at Bob with interest as he told his story. Bob had taken his hunched posture and slow sweeping as an invitation to rest his elbows on the man's back as he further told his story.

"And when she exited the room, flustered, messy clothes, the full package, the mailbox was laid down on the bed, all smug like, and I could swear that for a moment I saw this hairy muscular man smoking a cigar with his cigar in full view. I blinked and it turned out my eyes were playing tricks on me, then I looked at a picture of my wife and her old husband she had in a drawer next to her lady things and it was that hairy dude with the big cigar."

The sweeper gasped at the revelation while the man next to Bob remained impassive. He wondered for a brief moment if the guy had died and the bartender had just forgotten to call an ambulance or a garbage truck at some point but then he remembered that he was in fact the one that had paid for his drink. Not a very expressive guy.

"I'm a reasonable man, didn't wanna believe in ghost crap. Thought my eyes were acting all messed up. I looked through the internet, people who were romantically attracted to objects existed, so I just assumed she was some weird kinda bi and was going through a mailbox phase or something and would soon return to her usual man meat craving." Bob explained seriously as he could then stared glumly at the counter. "Didn't stop me from being jealous of a damn mailbox, that thing got more action than I even had. Fucker!"

"And what did you do?" the sweeper had completely forgotten his job and looked up at Bob with wonder.

"What'd I do? I took that fucker with me on a midnight trip and leaned it against my car as I forced it to watch me fuck every mailbox in the damn neighborhood." Bob said with passion, then grit his teeth. "That's when the death threats started coming. In the form of envelopes.

"I'd get one every morning, in the mailbox, somehow my wife never saw those, all she saw were 'my' love letters the thing kept shitting out for her." Bob said as he rested his drink on the attentive sweeper's back.

"Naturally I started competing for my wife's attention with shows of affection of my own. Then she told me one morning, during breakfast when she'd leaned the thing against my usual chair, making it impossible to sit there: "Honey, you really make my knees weak, but please stick to the love letters, they're obviously your strong suite."" Bob paused for a moment leaning forward, both elbows against the sweeper's back, thumbs rubbing his temples.

"I very nearly blew my brains out that night." Bob said solemnly. "Only thing that stopped me was an envelope that said "Coward" on it."

"Then I ran." he said. "The notes kept following me, I got them no matter where I moved. Death threats telling me I'm not a real man, daring me to come back and so much as try to touch my girlfriend. I became paranoid, afraid, paper started scaring me. I had trouble keeping a job, the stress would interfere with my work as sometimes I would get as much as nine envelopes a day."

Bob played with his messy beard, fingered a few holes in his worn out pants.

"Here I am today, ruined." he said and finally finished his drink. "Thanks for the refreshment, statue man."

As he walked towards the door he heard a stop. He turned around and saw the same smug face from before. It was the unmoving guy.

"I was jealous and rude and I am sorry. I've realized the consequences of my actions. I was hoping your anger for me would help you return your girlfriend but I was a fool for using death threats. I leave you, forever." and he disappeared.

"Like I'd return to that cheater." Bob left.