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  1. Sunday, 11 am | Oakpeak Post Office Church had raged on. Nothing would stop the panels of her dress from sticking ferociously to her legs or arms. The fan she held in her hand was of minimal help but her hand continued to move absently up and down. She was able to give up, but when a bead of sweat dripped down her forehead to the bridge of her nose, she tightened her grip on the fan and continued. All morning, she found herself unable to concentrate on the sermon. She knew it was one she'd heard a hundred times before but her mind had been thick and warm, much too foggy for any sort of contemplation. Following church, she'd walked the short distance to the post office and curse the humidity under breath hoping the Lord would forgive her. When she entered, to her happiness, the post office had stayed relatively cool and quiet. She closed the door behind her, turned the sign around indicating the post office was, indeed, open on this very hot day. She'd been here for one hour -- no more, no less -- as was customary. Esme knew she was good at keeping tradition and while her former boss was now on trial, she belie ed in keeping with the same hours and nuances as the townspeople had come to know and recognize under his hazardous leadership. She'd only drawn the window coverings back a few inches or so, for fear the harsh sunlight find the glass and seep in. She kept busy behind the large wall that separated the postage materials from the rest the main floor. Oatpeak had recently welcomed a few new residents and Sundays were generally quiet, Esme decided she would have the time today to revise the town registrar and update a few ledgers. She leaned dutifully against the post office wall, the glass tile partially obstructing her face from view. @Die Shize
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