Carolina moon book6/29/2023 ![]() ![]() In just two months, early November, he'll be retiring, and his Sunday mornings will be spent sleeping or reading or fishing. ![]() He is to where he can count down the Sundays he'll spend this way. The doors of the small cinder block building stay locked while he sorts the mail left in the box last night. He has watched this coming and going his whole life and has rarely felt a longing to pick up and leave, himself. ![]() Mountains of postcards, wish you were here!, also dwindle, to property tax notices and missing-children flyers. It dwindles in September to the couple of hundred locals and the weekenders whose real lives are elsewhere. He's worked this Sunday morning shift for years and he's gotten used to it, gotten used to the absolute quiet, the seasonal rush of summer folks from all over creation. It is still dark when Wallace Johnson drives through town to the post office. ![]()
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