This is a medium length short story about a recluse, a man named Evan who lives alone--by choice. He suffers from an extreme form of agoraphobia. Recently, he's been counting the hours until his mail and packages are delivered by the young woman working for the post office. He can dream about actually seeing her, talking to her--but will he be able to work up the courage?
I'm a child of the Sixties--born and raised in Southern California. I escaped that craziness, and made my own brand of crazy in Colorado--where my husband of 46 years and I raised three lovely daughters and helped with six grandchildren. I have a soft spot for LGBT issues (naturally) and zero tolerance for blind hatred.