Through rain, snow, sleet, hail, gloom of night, fog of morning, and torpor of afternoon; through cutbacks, and Post Office closings, and diversity initiatives, and re-orgs, and a bureaucratic succession of Postmasters General; through truck breakdowns, and snow tire flats, and Post Office shootings and bombings, and the holiday rush; through the rise of FedEx and UPS with their swashbuckling gym-pumped young drivers swerving at high speed arrogantly around you; through the days, weeks, months, through time itself, George Waite has delivered the mail. Thirty-five years now. Through American invasions and wars, and famines and genocides, and tsunamis and earthquakes and volcanoes, George Waite’s red, white, and blue mail truck has lurched from mailbox to mailbox with the utter predictability of a brightly painted figure on a cuckoo clock.
My favorites of Stone's suspense thrillers are Moving Day and Two for the Show. The Mailman is a short story that is just as offbeat, but darker. George Waite is the prototypical mailman doing his job in the same neighborhood daily without fail. After 35 years he is being forced to retire. Then he gets a new job he cannot turn down.
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