Peter opened the rear hatch of his duck shaped mailbox.

It amused him to no end that he reached into a duck’s ass everyday to retrieve his mail. He was immature in that way. He was that person.

He sifted through the small parcels that constituted the ersatz duck’s ersatz feces. Bill. Bill. Sweepstakes. Charity requesting money. Green Envelope. Green Envelope?

It couldn’t be. But there it was where the return address should be. The unmistakable, psychedelic logo of “Green Means GO!” West Texas’s favorite game show.

Trembling, he tore open the envelope there on the lawn. “Dear Mr. Finnagan, It is with perverse pleasure that we invite you to appear on Green Means GO! Taping will be on Wednes. . .” but he had stopped reading.

He was going to get a chance to push that green button.

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