All the man wanted was a twenty-cent stamp. A twenty-cent stamp to go onto the envelope he finally attained three weeks prior. The envelope he got for the letter he wrote last July when he first arrived in America. This letter contained his heart, and all he needed now was that twenty-cent stamp to send his 'heart' back to her. The line moved up; he scratched the dark stubble on his chin, thinking. Just thinking of her. But his thought storm was now bumped by a hasty little boy chasing an orange cat. "Scuse me sir," said he, tipping his grey tweed cap and flashing an almost toothless grin before scampering off. It was the man's turn in line. He reached into his pocket to pull out those two dimes. But the two dimes were no longer existant.
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