All I could see was vast space filled with tree stumps that used to be a forest with confused deer wandering around and fumes from the postal workers’ Jeeps.

Conversely, I again thought I was all kinds of weird that it felt super nice, sitting, sipping wine, food cooking, and watching Axl doing something everyday, like going through his mail.

“What the fuck?”

My mind went from my apocalyptic thoughts about the environment, and my happy thoughts about Axl, and my eyes went from the bin to Axl when he said this.

He dumped the rest of his mail on the counter (what appeared to be coupon papers, which in my opinion, you should be able to opt out of if you didn’t clip coupons).

Then he came to me, envelope out.

Big manila envelope.

Like the one the pictures came in from my stalker.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

When he got close, I saw, handwritten on the front it said, TO HATTIE’S FUCK.

“Oh my God,” I repeated.

Axl ripped it open.

“He knows I’m here,” I said.

“Yep,” Axl replied tersely.

And I didn’t know if a facial expression could be described as terse, but if it could, his was.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“What?” I asked.

“Note says, ‘I’ll do you too,’” he shared, then flipped a picture around.

A naked, tall, muscular man, bent over a table, tied to it, taking it from behind from a man in a black leather, full-head mask.

Same theme, the man getting it did not look like he was enjoying it.

In fact, like the pictures he sent me, everything about it seemed violent, even having no small amount of experience watching scenes like that in action and knowing getting it good could look like it was bad.

The pictures he selected seemed designed to denote pain, not pleasure.

And this was mega creepy beyond the fact that all of this was just super creepy.

“He put this in my mailbox,” Axl said.

I didn’t know what that meant so I looked from the photo to him. “Pardon?”

“He put it in my mailbox, Hattie.” He showed me the envelope again.

No address.

Just the words.

“He didn’t post this to me, he opened my mailbox and put pornographic materials in it,” he stated.

“Is that, uh…actionable?”

“Mailboxes are the remit of the United States Postal Service. They have protections. And those protections are federal. Think a cop wouldn’t be all fired up if you got pissed some landscaper or housekeeping company put some marketing material in your mailbox. This?” He shook the envelope. “Yeah. A cop would get interested. So would the Feds.”

I found this hopeful on one front.

I put that hope into words.

“Maybe we should hand this to the police.”