Work in Progress
23 Wayward Lane
That 's not my address.
I looked up, yes, this is my house.
I looked again at the envelope, still not my address.
I turned the envelope over a few times, looking for some smudge of a return address but found nothing. I held the envelope up to the light, trying to see what was inside but to no avail.
It looked like i would be playing mailman today.
I had often passed the dilapidated housing of Wayward lane, with its rusty cans and the weeds which seemed to clamber through the seams of the cracked, pockmarked asphalt but I had never paid it much attention. I hadn't even realize anyone still lived there, most of the buildings were boarded up or burnt down to the metal skeleton and charred brick husk of someones home. Occasionally i had seen children playing along the trash littered avenue, watching me with flat, uncurious eyes.
Building 23 was at the far end of the lane where the road became complete overgrown by a garden of weeds of garbage.
That 's not my address.
I looked up, yes, this is my house.
I looked again at the envelope, still not my address.
I turned the envelope over a few times, looking for some smudge of a return address but found nothing. I held the envelope up to the light, trying to see what was inside but to no avail.
It looked like i would be playing mailman today.
I had often passed the dilapidated housing of Wayward lane, with its rusty cans and the weeds which seemed to clamber through the seams of the cracked, pockmarked asphalt but I had never paid it much attention. I hadn't even realize anyone still lived there, most of the buildings were boarded up or burnt down to the metal skeleton and charred brick husk of someones home. Occasionally i had seen children playing along the trash littered avenue, watching me with flat, uncurious eyes.
Building 23 was at the far end of the lane where the road became complete overgrown by a garden of weeds of garbage.