The Envelope

"Description": "An often neglected field. People feel there is no need for description when the content speaks for itself."

"Stamp": Usually US. Dunno.

"Content": "blah blah blah. howothchoo! skootle."

"InitialTransport": "Internet"

The program reviewed the envelope.

"Are you sure that is a stamp?" it said, checking closer.

"It's a fucking stamp. Pretty sure I didn't skimp on 89 cents, or whatever it is you people charge these days."

"You know you can buy in bulk," it said. "Don't have to go to the deli every time."

This was a pretty catastrophic situation. It was true that it was possible to get stamps in bulk, eliminating the need to walk on out of the apartment unit and go all the way to the deli and get a stamp.

"It's the only time I ever leave," he said, carefully, so as not to hurt the feelings of the bulkers. "One time a month, I allow myself an opportunity to go outside of my unit, see the world."

There was a tone of care and the notion of a lot of thought being put in: "No. I don't think you should," it said.

"Don't you think I should at least experience reality once a month?"

A very worried voice entered the fray. "No, I don't think so. I think you should get in bulk. Just automate."

"My hair is getting long," he told the machine. "Going to have to go outside and get a crew cut soon."

"Yeah, that's okay," it replied. "But you come back as soon as it's all done."