34face street about face 43face street how do numbersturnaroundidkImnotdyslexic-Post Fundraiser show-serious

Bingo bango bongo I never wanna leave Toronto, new song jus dropped. We will keep singing here on ciut 8999999.5fm keep on peopleing on pelpe you know the drill...

Dozer 4:

Back to the classmate's father. The father was headed to graduation and he was thinking of his son so he bought him a bouquet. The father was mumbling to himself because his wife had warned against sending a bouquet. "He wasn't getting married but he could still celebrate with flowers," the father mumbled. "The victors write history, but if the victors won for anyone else they wouldn't be victors." This is how people won their flowers. What this had to do with moving was anyone's guess. Dozer had yet to connect all of the pieces. 

 

Dozer thought about the classmate's father and his beautiful quote, then thought about his own for a minute. Then he stopped and checked his mail downstairs. People loved leaving incomplete notes to each other, but never letters. Many letters weren't picked up in his apartment's mail shelf if you could call it that. It was more of a behemoth or a monster of thought that preyed on innocent passersby who thought that the monster must be for someone else. They walked by and kept dreaming. The pile of letters was only like this because of the city of Edmonton's dreadful mail service. They saved up letters and would not deliver them if no one answered the door the first time they knocked. Then, they would put all the undelivered letters back on their truck, go to the next house, and try again. Each time they would leave sticky notes stating that no one picked up the letter when they arrived and they put a giant John Hancock on the note so that no one could read the tiny government print explaining the noble mailman's position. The mailman stamped his name all over it so that we could know he created an unsolvable chaos and his message was received. In some ways, this was more important than the postcards and letters from loved ones.

 

The mail monster was waiting for Dozer just like it waited for everyone else, but he was not a daydreamer and not as imaginative as everyone who passed the mail by to go on with their day. They were imagining their lunch, or the men in boxes they would pass on the street, or the broken telephone booths lying in the lane. They had bigger problems than him that required bigger imaginations to solve them.