It was Thursday. A day of somewhat rest for me. Errands and the like. The post office, the line, the waiting. With all the vast speeds of technology, the post office remains in the primitive. No complex computers. But at least stamps are adhesive. I never liked the taste of the rear of a stamp. But even so, that is a memory I retain in my head when I think of how it used to be. The disgust in my face after my tongue brushes across the thin and glossy surface. Disgust. But the very action and nature of my expression allows me to return to past experiences through my senses, something a self tackable stamp will not do. For me, there is a shying away from the touchable world of expression, as memory wanes along our aging paths.
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