I submit by mail to literary journals, on occasion. Some days I work from home, when our mail arrives.
Every time the door to our building opens or closes, I wait for the beep of the mail carrier. And as soon as I hear that tell-tale beep, I race to the door and peer through the peephole for the entire duration of the mail carrier dropping off our mail.
Because, you know, going out to get the mail while he’s still there would be embarrassing and weird.
Today’s mail: one sushi menu addressed to “resident.”