Dead Letter Club: The July Edition

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your pens.


Yes, you read right.

It’s time, Melbourne.

Time to return to the days of corporeal mailboxes and inks.

To a time when the simple act of sending a letter usually dictated that the time between being informed that someone had taken slightly ill and standing before their bloated corpse was about 2 seconds.

Bring your inkwells and your bells.

Your bells, bells, bells, bells.

Bells, bells, bells.

Let that be a warning.

You’ll not be allowed entry unless you can quote at least one maggoty metricist.

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