The post office line is a joy-free zone specialising in boredom. I gaze at the ceiling. I gaze at the floor. I read the chart prohibiting snakes, vermin, human remains … I reread the zip code list. The line inches on in ineffectual spasms. I slouch a spasm and inch nearer the scowling woman behind the counter. She wields her brutal stamp. Thump. Thump. Please let this end. And suddenly it does as life pops up perched on the counter, legs a-dangle, plump as Buddha, blithe as a bird on a branch. The little guy’s agog as his mother takes the pen tethered to the counter and calmly draws a smiley – disbelief dissolves into utter delight – on his pink, round knee.
Michael Pettit is an established South African artist. A Pushcart Prize nominee, his short stories and poems have appeared in The Barcelona Review, Meniscus, Frazzled Lit, Epoque Press, Thin Skin, Sein und Werden, and other journals. They have been shortlisted, placed, or won international competitions and awards including those of Wells, Hastings, Parracombe, MTP, WestWord, Bedford, Bournemouth, Hammond House, and the Plaza Short Story Prize judged by Booker Prize winner, Damon Galgut.
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