Correspondence/Choice/Out of Time
"Wait! Harvey—"
Harvey looked up from the mailbox where he was kneeling to lock the door, turned to look at the desperately panting kid running up to him, blond hair wildly tangled—
"Well, if it isn't Miss Helga Pataki, runnin' around the neighborhood in her PJs again," he laughed and shook his head at the one slipper she was wearing, "What—"
"No time to explain, Harv, got a huge favor to ask you—"
Harvey held out a hand to stop her and rolled his eyes, "Mmhm. What'd you decide not to send him this time, girl?"
"Can I just," she panted, crouched, hands on her knees, "Oh c'mon! You know the drill!" And with that she'd deftly snatched his canvas bag and began to rifle through it, tossing envelopes willy-nilly over her shoulder and grumbling to herself.
"Uh, Helga."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm insane—" Yep, she looked it, too.
"Helga."
"It'll just take a minute—"
"Now look, you know yesterday's mail's been sent out already."
Helga's motions slowed like a coal train screeching to a halt. Harvey braced himself, hands over his ears.
Far, far away in a steamy jungle land, a blond teenager bolted upright in his bed in a cold sweat. "Hey Dad, did you hear something just now?"
"No, son, go back to bed."
