I remember it like it was yesterday, that one day at my old home in New York, when the postman left that package outside my door, the package not really being important, probably just some catalogs, but rather, the importance lies in the postman's visit himself, as opposed to the reason of his visit, which was, of course, the unimportant package. This postman would have a profound, lasting effect on my life, and I had been viewing him through my peephole for several months now, from inside my little New York town house, a terribly fine little house that resided perfectly parallel to Washington Parallelogram Park.