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The red ink was crisp, but as Arthur pulled the envelope away, he frowned. The date stamped wasn't April 27th. It read: November 12, 1992.

He plugged it in. The machine groaned, a deep, rhythmic thrum that felt more like a heartbeat than a motor. Arthur adjusted the dial to $0.45, slid an envelope into the feeder, and pulled the lever. Clack-shhh. buy pitney bowes postage meter

"Why buy a postage meter, Arthur?" his daughter had asked. "You don't even send Christmas cards." "It’s about the mechanics," he’d muttered. "Precision." The red ink was crisp, but as Arthur