On the hillside

Every morning when I step out the front door (and sometimes in the evening) there's a box on the neighbors' door mat. It is usually not the same box two days in a row, and when it is it's not in the same position. Once, a plain brown cardboard box tipped on one side, flaps askew and obviously empty. Once a white box, taped shut, the tape holding down a white strip of paper that might have been an address or a receipt as it contained a combination of numerals and asian characters.

This piece deserves an ending. But.... I've got nothing.

(no subject)

My friends are the coolest people ever.

No particular reason, I've just been reminded a few times.