My monthly Sun magazine was hand delivered to the front stoop with the following note attached:
"J**, hey --
Your copy of The Sun has been traveling around Atlanta, first coupled with mine for some reason & delivered to my home address [***] where I'm renovating, & then forwarded to [***] where I'm staying until the work on my house is done. But since I'd be forlorn without my monthly copy, I'm driving this back down to you --
***
(Pastor, Emory *** Church)"
Having my own personal magazine Samaritan was confusing (I reread the note 3 times) and heartening. There's no logical explanation for my copy of The Sun being delivered to this woman. Our addresses bear no resemblance. Our names don't even begin with the same letter. Having just finished Eat, Pray, Love, I was immediately struck with thoughts of signs and omens. Am I supposed to seek out spiritual advice from this woman? Is my magazine saga the beginning of a cosmic journey into higher levels of consciousness?
or is it really just another botch job care of the Atlanta Postal Service?
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