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Last Sunday, the citizens of Hungry Neck discovered an alarming sight on the neighborhood’s streets east of downtown: hundreds of letters strewn across the pavement, many of them floating in rain puddles. On my little street off New Bern Avenue, I found roughly 50 of them tossed in the bushes.
No accident here. Somebody stole our mail. Some of it is still sitting on the asphalt. This crime, as the saying goes, really chapped my behind. A PROBLEM NATIONALLY Mail — the junk variety excepted — is intimate, even precious. There’s a reason people carry it through snow, rain, heat and gloom of night. I’m not the world’s biggest Samaritan, but I leave my carrier a gift card every Christmas, and when it’s hot, I’ve been known to offer lemonade.
