Postal Service

The lovely Cafe Otto boasts not only leather couches, dual fireplaces, foxy waiters, wine, free internet, anzac cookies the size of your face (if you aren't my dad), and the largest coffee I've seen offered in Australia, but also jams consistently excellent music. I arrived at 2pm today and was graced with the electric beats of The Postal Service, and was instantly transported across the ocean, back to Chicago, into the South Loop, to the foot of the UC megadorm, up to the 18th floor, holding the handle of 1816c, passing through the adjoining (filthy) bathroom, pulling back the red sheet that is the door to a skillfully constructed fort, and into the arms of one Sarah Gray.

Oh Sarah, how I miss thee. I wish The Postal Service could transport me for real like a little parcel to your doorstep. Or you to me and mine. ... at which point we could resume our thuggish existence together.