Call: Sera/Angelo
[She crumbles the postcard up at first, without even reading it, balling it up tightly enough that it's a smooth, round thing without edges. It sits on the counter like that for a day, and then she moves it to her typewriter, where she begins to unfurl it slowly throughout the morning and into the evening. By the time the handwriting is visible again, the sheets of paper beside the typewriter are filled with nonsense words that don't even bother trying to form sentences.
When she calls, it's nearly 3 in the morning, and she dials twice and hangs up, before letting it ring through. Ring.]