a novel of community involvement

and trust in the postal service

Only room for nine hundred and ninety eight (998).

Postcard

by

Natalija Grgorinic & Ognjen Raden

       Los Angeles, 11/01/2004

     The woman awoke after a conversation with the President of the United States. The man took out his vampire teeth and immediately went to sleep in his shoes. It was decided the two of them shall be perfect for each other. It was also decided the two of them shall never meet. The woman stretched and yawned. The man began to dream he was holding her by the elbow. "Let go, I know my way in", she said.

       Los Angeles, 03/17/2005

       Eyes unprepared, she looked at her feet. The feet took a walk leaving sunstains on the carpet. Her toes raked it picking up silk threads of her own hair fallen out yesterday, last week, not more than a month ago. The hairs cut in the skin of the toes before snapping elastic. The dust unsettled around her steps. She felt queasy, nauseous. Hated moving. Didn't mind traveling, but resented getting somewhere new to stay awhile, a day, a week, not more than a month.

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POSTCARD - copyright by Natalija Grgorinic & Ognjen Raden, 2004.