Expecting A Book

I'm expecting a book. Namely, For the Time Being by Annie Dillard.
I'm expecting more than a book. She will, of course, answer all unanswerable questions.

The mailman holds a key to the apartment complex.
If expecting a note from my sister, Emma, or from my grandmother, I meet him in the hallway.
I asked him once if he loved his job-- delivering snail-mail-- time travel shooting him back to the romanticism of Samuel Clemens.
He answered by handing me an issue of Kiplinger's Magazine, a practical, if relentless, Christmas present.
The cover read, "Sell Your Stocks!* *but not all of them" and, "Practical Investing: The Impact of Dividends!" [No, the exclamation marks are not added by me for emphasis. ]
Upon seeing my crinkled nose, he laughed, "Honey, I deliver lots of bills."

I thought that vintage clothing and philosophical thoughts came with a barista position- until I became one.  Now I smell like ham and caramel.

There's a cocker spaniel in East Grand Rapids. She's chained to a fence and, if she pulls the chain taught, can make it to the sidewalk. She's nice if you bend down and talk to her, though her fur will cover your hand in a thick film. Be weary, though, if you must leave. She bites Deserters. It's best to sit in a comfortable long-term position-- where one can retreat quickly. She's worth a visit. I'd give you her address but for her owners.

For the Time Being should arrive at any moment. Annie Dillard will, of course, answer all unanswerable questions and I'll probably skip out into the sunshine and serenade a bird.
Well, either that or she won't answer the unanswerable questions. In that case, I'll probably skip out into the sunshine and serenade a bird.