A blue metal box holds my hopes and dreams. They stay there until a man wearing navy blue slacks, a light blue button up and a blue baseball cap comes to carry them away. My dreams are thrown into a plastic box and taken to the factory of correspondence where they are sorted by two letters and five numbers.
Within two to three days, my dreams will be sitting in another metal box. Sometimes, the box will be tall and skinny among a sea of similar boxes. And sometimes the box will be big and fat where it sits on the side of the road all alone.
When my friend opens the box and pulls out the envelope, everything is as it should be.
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