TF’s Valentine’s Day present came today. As I was riding up in the elevator, I noticed that above his name and address the envelope said “A West Indian Man.”
TF is not, by the way, a West Indian man. Even if he were, I’m not sure why that would be on an address label. Our landlord, however, has an Indian name. I haven’t slept much recently,* I am not thinking… well, much at all. So now I’m wondering why the Post Office has started race profiling people and identifying “addresses of interest.”
I get upstairs and as I’m opening the envelope, I’m imaging supercomputers and Homeland Security and why they would possibly care that a West Indian man lived at my address. Inside the package with TF’s present is a letter thanking us for our adoption of a West Indian Manatee.
And with that, I’m off to bed.
*Law Review Board elections were yesterday. We spent 19 hours straight in a small room that was painted a horrible bright light green hue. I got home at 3:30 a.m. I am glad to be done.
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