In a scandal most grievous, Vicomte Sorting LeFacteur of Quoia's notorious Absentee Postbox has taken it upon himself to voice vigorously his dissatisfaction with the recent implementation of Faster-Than-Light (FTL) delivery—currently only benefiting those enshrouded in the nebulous waves of junk mail. Whilst his neighbors exuberantly wade through daily drifts of cosmic pamphlets weighing in excess of three tons, the vicomte's solitary postbox languishes in ignominious silence—a woeful void adorned solely by the ghostly echoes of his forlorn aspirations.
Each dawn, as the horse-drawn delivery cart ambles forth, Vicomte LeFacteur's gill-lines flush indigo—an aesthetic plight indicative of shallow waters yet deep resentment—upon receiving but a single letter, which, he laments, hardly constitutes sufficient justification for his existence in this brave new cosmos. "It is an affront unparalleled!" he bellowed from the heights of his eight-foot doorway, "for I have thrice petitioned the esteemed Postmaster-General for inclusion under the new junk tariff, citing 'equal exposure to nebulous nuisances'!" Thus far, these appeals have been met with silence, like his postbox.
The Postmaster-General remains steadfast, asserting that the issuance of random circulars constitutes a transformative frontier that merely bypasses the vicomte's abode for reasons unspecified. As others excavate their yards under the weight of intergalactic nonsense, the vicomte finds himself locked in a bureaucratic limbo, with an empty postbox as his only companion in a universe that seems intent on abandoning him to his petty rage.
While the cosmos continues spewing its detritus at unparalleled speeds, the vicomte twiddles his thumbs in an ever-expanding void, desperately clinging to the notion that perhaps one day his letterbox may also become a conduit for the universe's trashy treasures.
