
I am not a young man. I was born in the 60s. Yet, on Friday, my Dad came into work and was so pleased to hand me a booklet of 20 Marvel Superhero postcards he found at the Flying J last year and had predictably forgotten was in his glove box. Make no mistake, I like them, but it was like he thought I was ten, and getting this tiny boon would set me all a twitter and be ever grateful. I mean, come on Dad, I have bills, stress, kids, stress, mortgage, stress, work stress, dog with a bad bladder, and this guy thinks that by giving me a booklet of Marvel postcards he can brighten my shitty fucking day.
Turns out he was right. Thanks Dad.



