POSTCARD FROM THE PIER
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Dear Friend,

I have arrived in a town where every clock is ten minutes slow and everyone considers this a courtesy. The bakery opens when the first tray is ready. The bus leaves when the driver finishes explaining the clouds.

There is a blue door at the end of the lane that opens onto a tiny garden. I have visited twice. Both times the owner was away, but the cat conducted a thorough interview.

Yesterday I ordered something I could not pronounce and received a bowl of cherries, a spoon, and an expression of deep confidence. It was excellent.

I will return when my shoes stop collecting interesting dust.

Yours,
A Correspondent

This postcard, its sender, and its unnamed town are original inventions. No travel history or personal correspondence is reproduced.

— JuneBugWithABudget