It was surrounded. Two men, one truck. Cones everywhere. I could see it was in trouble from blocks away. "Just movin' it a few meters, don't you worry, makin' a zebra crossin' here instead." But, but, but! That postbox always stood there in front of the house. A landmark. The secure red spot. The visual cue to get off the night bus. Should I write to the council? Would the mayor help? I could collect signatures. Create an online campaign. Go on a hunger strike. Join Postboxless Anonymous?
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