Flyer Boxes

One became a repository for chewing gum, another was tagged and stuffed with hamburger wrappers. Flyers are pilfered, folded into paper airplanes, handy message pads for the shopping cart sect.

Amazingly, my box at 2241 1/2 W. 24th St. also serves to exchange love letters. I found the second therein Wednesday, folded neatly and sealed with a blue-green sticker. The notes are hand-written, in Inglanol (not the converse Spanglish, wherein Spanish is affected by English), presumably the stuff of teens.

I can't remember writing love letters as a teen, though mustn't I have? I drew a menu once as part of a home-cooked, romantic dinner. Mostly, I just asked girls to the movies.
Time was, I mistakenly took a young lady to a rough-and-tumble Chuck Bronson cop caper titled Murphy's Law, rather than the Martin Ritt directed, lovey-dovey comedy, Murphy's Romance.

Multiplexes can be so confusing.