I think I should give you the background on our letter box. It was (and still is) a functioning microwave. It’s rough in the ghetto, we gotta improvise. Survival of the craftiest, motherfucker. Eventually we upgraded the white microwave of doom to a sweet black number for the kitchen and the white one became our letterbox. To make sure the white oven was worthy of becoming the letterbox we had a shot-put competition with it in the backyard, poured a tin of house paint over it and made like Mr. Scribble, scratching our number on it and planting the thing on top of a crate out the front of the house. It then stayed there for over six months in the gnarly ass rain we had over our so called ‘Summer’. It did a fantastic job acquiring our mail, until the kitchen microwave decided to blow up leaving us without a method of cooking a quick feast. We went without instantaneous hot meals for like three weeks until a genius idea struck: why don’t we try the one out the front? We plugged her in and what do you know… it friggen worked! We decided to see what the postman would make of our new letter box so we penned a letter, stuck it in the new box and left a pen and paper for the postie to respond.