The Postman
The postman in our neighborhood always rides a bicycle on his route. When it is warm, he has on shorts that accentuate his muscular, tanned legs. His short sleeved shirt is usually damp with sweat by the time he gets to my house. He arrives, like clockwork, at 10:30 am every day. I have my sofa backed up to the large picture window at the front of my living room. My mailbox is right next to the window. Each morning I see the postman as he rides his bike right past the window to deposit what mail he has for me. I have gotten used to the routine and barely give it any notice. One day, I was viewing porn online. My computer screen was facing the window. I had lost track of the time …