He was slowly counting out exact change for a book of international stamps.

I waited in line behind him, watching him push nickels across the glass partition.

He told the clerk the stamps were for his granddaughter over in London.

The clerk listened patiently and gave the man his change with a polite smile.

For everyone else in the building, it was a completely ordinary Tuesday morning.

When it was my turn, I stepped up to the glass.

I asked the clerk for the smallest mailbox they had.