The Post

The boy edged his way inside, curious to look around. Clocks weren't the only thing that filled the shop. Behind the counter he saw dozens of wooden pigeon holes, each one crammed with letters. On the counter was an assortment of rubber stamps, an ink pad and a large ledger, opened at a page that was brimming with his Pa's loopy writing.

"I suppose you're wondering what all this is?" the old man asked. The boy hadn't seen him in the shadows, sitting back in his old wicker chair. 

"I thought you only sold clocks," the boy said. He saw a book of stamps beside the ledger and realised that the shop was more than it first seemed. Behind the counter, bags of mail spilled on the floor. There were dozens of envelopes of every size, all waiting patiently to be delivered.