If we want to keep the #USPS alive we should start writing each other nonsense Victorian era letters.

Dear Terence,
I found Trevor in the garden again. He stares at the koi and insists they know his name. I don't know whether or not to hope it is true as it will give him ease.

Nan has taken to the drink. I can only hope she retains her skills as a nurse or grandfather will falter. He tends to rave and she alone can calm him.

I believe she has given him some sort of tincture of unknown origin. And again I feel torn as to how to feel about this.

Could I express these thoughts to anyone but you, Dear Terence? You are my oldest friend and we are tethered together by a filial love stronger than any iron chain or fear of what we did in the quarry that summer being exposed.

Terence, how is Willa? Has her hair returned?

She did not deserve what happened to her. A lady has the right to walk into any place of business along the boulevard and sniff any decanter that is not properly stoppered.

That establishment, I heard from the Commodore, has since been shuttered. Something about exploited cattle

The Commodore, as I alluded, was here briefly. He had been around the Cape and received the Templeton's Cross for overcoming sea sickness. He showed us all and allowed Olivia to wear it as a lark. I wonder if he still fancies her. Or if he told her his secret.

Oh Terence, I wish you were here as the pub has not been the same since you left for Providence. I am still seeing Canadia and hope to ask for her hand soon. Her father still doesn't care for me but blast him and his money and his withered arm. The heart wants what it wants!

I have reason to believe she would elope with me were I to ask, but I do not want to estrange her from her family. Canadia Basketington comes from a proud line of hog merchants and I would not deprive her of the annual jellied-jowl cotillion. I hope I can sway her father.

I must dash. This morning we are stacking rocks in the dooryard to confuse solicitors and I hope to best my personal record of a twenty-three stack!

I will always be in your debt and am reminded of it every time I scratch the ear you recovered that night in Boston.
Yours, Blevin