“No Forwarding Address” by Laura Jarosz

The traffic ticket was the last straw.

For the most part, Casey loved her little bungalow. It was the perfect size for her, and walking distance from the train, a small locally owned supermarket, and a great Mom & Pop breakfast diner. The only problem was that a string of previous tenants had left their mark in the DIY projects of dubious quality, and the buckets of mail they still received at Casey’s address.

Monica Volkov was the worst one. For all the other ghosts of tenants past, Casey only received ad mailers and the occasional request for a charity donation, but for Monica Volkov, she always got serious stuff: envelopes that clearly contained hospital bills or insurance policies, even the occasional package. It was almost as if Monica Volkov had never bothered to tell anyone she didn’t live there any more.

Usually, Casey just wrote ‘return to sender’ on these things and silently wished Monica Volkov the best of luck getting her stuff. When the bright red envelope from the traffic enforcement division arrived at her mailbox, announcing that she’d run a red light equipped with an automated camera (which caused Casey to spiral into a minor panic attack), and it turned out to be addressed to Monica Volkov, she decided she’d had enough. It had been her house for nearly five years at this point; it was time for Monica Volkov to take some responsibility and start updating her address.

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