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 lights flickered on in the workshop 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.