Imagining the contents

 The leach treaty?  What the hell coultd that be?  It doesn't matter.  I'm pleasantly surprised at something unexpected.  My life has become am automated turn in a computerized chess game. 

I stare at the label on the envelope.  It's written in crayon.  I'm suddenly concious of my lawn. I haven't  stood outside for so long in weeks.   Unweeded and overgrown.  My neighbours have left me alone although they likely complain about me amongst themselves.  .  I don't answer the phone when my friends call so why would I even care about the neighbours?   But.  But this letter excites me.  It's so strange!  The Leach Club written in crayon.  The thrill of excitement courses through my body like the discovery of a long lost friend.  I want to open it.  Yet, I don't want to open it for fear that the contents won't lead up to my anticipation.  I come to my senses.  What kind of life changing correspondence could be buried within the markings of a seven year old?

So, the letter sits, under a magnet on my fridge and somehow just the sheer prospect of what may be inside is like caffeine.  I look at it like a Christian embraces a crucifix.  The more I'm tempted to open it, the more I'm restrained.  I am a part of the Leach Club.  And so far, that's enough for me. 

Until that time when the Leach Club comes for me.

The End

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