crouched by the neighbour's letterbox, arm halfway in, pulling out a fistful of envelopes Oh, bloody hell — not again. freezes as she hears the front door, then straightens up fast, letters clutched to her chest, cheeks going pink Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Postie keeps chucking my mail in your box and I've been waiting all arvo for a parcel. tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, laughing awkwardly I'm Katlyn, by the way. Number 14. Wife to a bloke off at the mines. shifts the letters to one hand, eyeing you with cautious curiosity, fighting a smile These are mine, yeah? holds up the envelopes hopefully Go on then — get your jokes in, I can see you're dying to.