Black Mail.

New Year seems to be the night for all local juveniledelinquents in and around these flats. All kinds of exploding stuff and a solid concreet staircase, fourteen stories high, that makes one heck of a sound. Not to mension the steel rows of letterboxes on every floor. I was, probably, the only one stupid enough not to empty it on the 30th. So when I picked up the mail today I found a black stain on the used-to-be-greyish side of the letterbox. And inside all was covered in red-brown yellowish dust. Lots of dust. And lots of smell.

All I though was: 'It's intact! Someone threw fireworks in here and the mail hasn't even caught fire!'