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.