This big old thing always gets me when I'm in NY.
Standing there in its Parthenonian glory...column after marvelous column reaching toward the heavens, in such a neat and tidy way. All those stairs. The whole block is just stairs. Straight lines. Powerfully straight lines. Strong right angles. Low center of gravity, for a big-city building.
It feels so....so secure. So trustworthy. Solid.
I mean, honestly...is there anything else, besides, maybe, Kevin Costner on a horse, that can give you solid warm fuzzies about the mail? Think hard. I didn't think so. You usually complain about it, right? I know you've made at least one snide comment about stamp prices this past month. Don't tell me you haven't. We all have. You've probably heard me rant. I know, I know.
"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." Don't tell me reading those giant words stretching across this grand edifice doesn't give you a little rush of...I don't know, a possibly unfamiliar good vibe of some kind. It's alright, I won't tell on you.