I wrote a letter tonight, to send to my dad. I don’t honestly remember the last time I wrote a letter. Not one that actually got posted, in any case. There have been flirtations with sending postcards, but nothing quite as committal as a letter. It’s easy to assume that letter writing is a lost art. I’ve spoken with a few older people who used to post a letter and wait for weeks for a reply, for the ship to cross the ocean and back. But the reply would come. I also don’t remember the last time I received a letter.

This is an age when even bills aren’t posted anymore. Instead, they might be emailed or be set up as a pre-arranged bank transfer. The post box is filled instead with fliers, ads, promotional offers and, thankfully, local weekly newspapers. I remember loving getting mail, especially when I was in university. It was a sign that someone loved you, usually your parents.

I hope he likes it. It’s something that you can hold. It doesn’t vanish when you hang up the phone.

There is a cat that lives at my new house. He’s named Seven. I thought it was odd to use a number as a name, but it’s an interesting idea for a sci-fi story.

The premise would be that identity is explicitly tied to age. This is sort of true already, in that people refer to age groups and imply a characteristic. This could be taken further in that all people of an age are tied together and can be referred to interchangeably—the concept of the hive mind, but with a dependence on age. Imagine a scene where a 7 year old is talking with an 8 year old. It has the same effect as all 7 year olds talking with all 8 year olds, except that there are only two bodies physically present for the conversation.

An implication from this could be that since communication is so easy within an age, wisdom is rarely passed down through generations—it’s just too difficult to communicate that way. This might lead to a sense of competition and conflict.

This whole idea is quite blurry, and only exists here as a reminder to come back to it at some point. But if there is something written along these lines, I’d be interested in reading it. If only I had comments enabled already…

She watched in horror as the tray tumbled from her hand. Even before it reached the floor, she could feel the stares of customers witnessing the catastrophe taking place, including some of the patrons who's order she had been delivering. Despite the glacial pace at which it fell to the floor, the glassware exploded, showering her feet and surrounding area with a mixture of sticky and sharp droplets. The soundtrack erupted shortly after.

The response was immediate. With the last tinkle of broken glass, a silence washed over the restaurant, perferated mementarily by the sound of nearby chairs sliding out of the viscinity. Time slowly reinstated control of the room, starting at the outskirts and slowly progressing inward to the epicenter. The spell's last hold was broken by a busser, cleaning gear in hand, excusing himself towards the scene. The waitress' panic finally transformed into action, apologising to the customers as she began to gather the larger bits of glass.

Retreating to the bar, the dread of dealing with the manager was already beginning to germinate. As she arrived, a duplicate tray had just finished being assembled for delivery. Another waitress appeared, saving her from having to repeat the journey.

The manager approached her and began his lecture, taking great pleasure in watching her eyes track downward tothe floor as he outlined the indivudual costs that would be coming from her earnings. Or would have been, if it wasn´t for her anonymous benefactor. A moment passed before the statement tunneled its way into realisation. He pointed to a gentleman at the bar.

She hesitantly walked over to the bar, unsure of what to say, how to react. "Why?" was the only thing that her mind would form, and took several moments to pass the word through her lips.

"There are good days and bad days, miss. Ev'rybody has 'em. Today was a good one for me and lookin' to be a bad one for you. Reason enough?" His chair slid against the floor, and he rose to leave.