How David Weber orders a pizza
The telephone rang.
Jason Wilkins roused himself out of his dough-and-flour-addled stupor, and gazed at the ringing noise emanating from the receiver. He was tall, even for an American, this despite his father's very average height and his mother's petite build. Some had suggested -- in hushed tones and never to his face, of course -- that it was because his mother had long ago taken an ... interest in the very tall mailman who'd graced their neighborhood mail delivery route for so many years. Mail delivery was one of those necessary evils of modern American life; a citizen could send his friends and colleagues e-mail faxes that arrived in the blink of an eye, but there was always the reactionary old contingent who'd never wanted to bother with these "modern contraptions" who insisted on writing letters on paper and sending them through the antiquated network of delivery trucks and post offices, and so long as this contingent existed the mail would also have to exist.
Also posted at Dreamwidth, where there are comment(s); comment here or there.