Some many ideas could come flooding into his head as Bob went through the day to day chores of his hectic life. And yet the moment he started to write, he could often picture his ideas flying away like the birds in the sky, carefree with abandon, unbridled by all but the basics of life to eat, reproduce and die, their purpose fulfilled.
What simple life Bob mused, somewhat envious of its simplicity, yet without wishing to exchange lives, not with the birds or other animals at any rate. It was more typical of the human condition to feel envy toward his neighbour or the millionaire businessman he saw on Dragon's Den perhaps. But that was not his lot, Bob reminded himself thankfully. Though he had, like no doubt every human being at some stage if not several times, wondered just what it would be like if he had £60,603 or £270,244 in the bank. Never a million pounds as Bob liked to be different, didn't like even numbers that much and kind of always liked to be a bit different. It was his world after all and he could define the parameters within his own dreams without recourse to the stereotypical numerical threshold.
As he scurried downstairs to collect the post, he heard the rush of his tyres on the loose stones as they hastened to the postman's next port of call. Bob picked up the letters and parcels, scanning them quickly before deciding on their priority for opening. He could usually quickly sort them out into taxman, bank, junk mail - get poor slow schemes and the ones which he did not recognise and which would have to be opened to satisfy his curiosity - but not yet as Bob as a rule always opened the ones he recognised first, sorting them into 2 piles bin and action.
There was one in particular that had really caught his imagination and Bob held off opening as he tried harder than usual to figure out...I wonder, he thought as he squeezed, bent, twisted and even smelt this unusually shaped semi weighty envelope.
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