A steady procession of headlights appeared like a string of pearls against the starry backdrop. The baker's dozen of delivery trucks raced up a thorn-embowered path to an abandoned building made of stone with skewed walls, crooked smokestacks, and a roof like a funny slouched hat. A parliament of owls took flight as the mysterious convoy drove through a row of decayed wood doors at the loading dock. Instantly lamps flickered on lighting up the workshop like a Christmas tree and smoke billowed from the chimneys.
When the curtain of the night lifted an elderly woman swung gently on a porch swing. Her grown son lolled on the rail eating a plastic wrapped snack mumbling, "Hi, Walter," to the familiar postal carrier arriving at the front stoop.