Int. A small post office in a small shopping mall. A counter with three employees. A pair of scales. A poster for passport photos. The author, an impossible to describe handsome type (the kind that would make Lovecraft squirm in delight) enters with a box of envelopes. They are signed copies of Leviathan’s Blood to be sent out to the winners of a recent competition.
AUS POST EMPLOYEE
Your book is over a kilo in weight.
Later, he regrets everything.
(But, more seriously, grats to those who won. Enjoy the book, tell your friends, share it round, and so forth.)