Atlantic Place

The arcane art of letter writing has been all but destroyed by advances in telecommunications.  Now, with a simple clickety-clack of the fingertips, I can send out a message to millions.  The slow (but surprisingly satisfying) process of scratching out letters on paper, of dragging a ball point pen across ruled sheets, has been supplanted by high-tech low-brow text messages.

 

But at least one heart still beats that believes there's something more to be found in the inky business we call snail mail.  Something visceral in the way that your lowercase a's look stooped and hunchbacked, that your capital Q's look like 2's because you learned to write in the old days before they realized that was a dumb way to teach kids to write.  When I hold your letter, I can see you wiping your palm on your pant leg.  I can see you licking the envelope and wincing when the horrid taste of the glue moves across your tongue...

 

And, lest it be said of me that I am a Luddite, we also have a Skype address.  Just search for Yaardley.  That's Yaardley as in "Knock his bloody head off, Yaardley!"

 

See you in the mailbox!