'Dad, there's a letter here for you. Looks kinda bulky. You importing anything I should know about?'

'Letter? Give it here.'

'Hmmm... no return address, just some random letters. Maybe I should-'

'Quit fooling around kid. Hand it over.'

'Ummm... I turned eighteen last birthday? Legally not a kid anymore, in case you haven't caught up?'

'Jane, hand it over now!'

'Okay, okay! By the way, you're taking me with you to the gym tomorrow. Don't forget?'

'Sure, won't forget.' Joe, or as she'd taken to calling him, Pepe - this another of the verbal games they'd played in shared screens in days past - picked up the envelope his daughter had slid across the kitchen bench. The front was handwritten. He knew the writing well. He turned the bulky envelope over. Where the sender's details should have been were three letters. "LOF."