When real things happen to imaginary people

I was over at my next-door neighbors, helping her with some computer issues, when I mentioned my vanished package; the post office swore it had been delivered, and I was really upset about it because it was a vintage Ray Bradbury book.

She stared at me, said, "WAIT A MINUTE", and bolted off to rummage through a stack of things. It turns out that Mr. Bradbury is one of her favorite authors, too, and when out for a walk the other day, found a vintage Bradbury hardback just sitting on a row of mailboxes, damp from the rain. She picked it up, and one of the other people in the neighborhood told her that he'd "found a really ripped up and battered package with that book sticking out it^*." My neighbor shrugged and took it home.

She found my book. By complete chance, she found my book and got it back to me.

I don’t care that it's battered and worn. It's a 1962 hardback of one of my favorite books in the world, and it's MINE.


^*That's in quotes, because there's been a LOT of problems with mail theft in our neighborhood, and the guy she was talking to is someone the rest of the neighbors suspect.