My back hurt. My arms hurt. My head did not hurt. I could stay up so long as my mind was clear. The lines snaked up to distract me from standing, but ... like to stand. Standing keeps the men away. They never strike me, they just make me think they will. They always stop before they whip me. Not like the men. The lines are my friends, but they like to make me stronger, so they test me.They were turning yellow. Good, that's their normal color. Maybe we could start talking, soon. I like talking. But right now, it certainly doesn't feel like an adventure. Right now you are standing in the rain, bike in hand, heavy bags full of post attached to the back wheel. It is your first real day on the job, after a week of training with the most horribly smelly, tear-jerkily boring old bag of farts you had ever met.You were forced by your mother to apply for the job at this old postal company. Your local postman was about to retire, and was desperately looking for a replacement. Your mother just. More

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