USPS Dave

This window closed; call it a career. 
My main man Dave from the downtown Bellingham post office clocked out for the last time today, slipping quietly into retirement about an hour after this photo was taken. I don't know how long he'd worked for the USPS. I don't know if he ever walked a route or even what his last name is. Still, he was a person in my neighborhood. 
Dave handled hundreds of pieces of outgoing mail for me these past three years alone. Stack after stack of [sic]s but also the softball to my niece, a Beaver Inn baseball cap to M'ster and the hideous black rubber pompadour wig to my Godson Mark Jeffrey on the occasion of his graduation from high school. Dave never commented on these unwrapped items, instead faithfully advising me of my shipping options and diligently locating a place for the mailing label-- even when the "package" was a cribbage board or an ordinary river rock with someone's name and address written on one side. 
I'm so goddamned angry at my government right now. In times of peace, quasi-government agencies like the postal service might seem more like Big Brother. But this afternoon in my dusty & dated neighborhood post office, the winter afternoon sun shining in through the open door, Dave seemed more like a favorite uncle-- bound for a great adventure. Best wishes in retirement, Dave. You'll be missed...