You're a letterboxer. You sneak around, avoiding the public's
attention. You don't use your real name. You have a fetish for
Rubbermaid products. One minute you're Dirty Harry, the next minute
you're Nancy Drew. You exhibit obsessive-compulsive behavior, and your
head throbs from pondering cryptic instructions.

You need help. Seek the Therapeutist.

I'm not so sure, though, that Magritte, the surrealist
painter's "Therapeutist" will cure you. Face it. You're beyond help.
But maybe this surreal letterbox will make reality seem closer to the
reality that non-letterboxers experience.

No appointment is necessary. Drop-ins are welcome.

Paul in SF