"The days mail made the metal flap jump, then the papers
crunched and crinkled through. Tom
noted what time the mailman came again. A pile had begun to push past the bed
and down to the tree that had once smelled like pine. It no longer smelled like pine. The fan swayed and had blown
most of the nettles off the top branches.
It squeaked every 11 seconds.
Tom hadn’t noticed these things until this week. Nettles scattered across his face he
called out to the mailman but since his fall all he could muster was a whimper."
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