He climbs in back, into the half dark, and performs the daily ritual of separating out those letters in whose company he will spend his evening .... A personal letter, half-sealed. Another with the flap tucked in, the adhesive unlicked. A manila envelope lined with bubble plastic, stapled shut without any tape. It amazes and infuriates him to discover how haphazard people are about their mail: don't they realise their privacy is at stake, their credit card numbers, their secrets, their nude or partially nude photographs? Don't they have any self-respect? Besides, a reader of other people's mail wants a challenge.