Arthur felt a chill. He grabbed a fresh stack of mail and began feeding the machine frantically. Each stamp jumped through time—1963, 1941, 1910. He realized he wasn't just buying a postage meter; he had purchased a chronological ledger.

The basement of "Putter’s Rare Finds" smelled of ozone and forgotten paperwork. Arthur, a man whose life was measured in ink refills, stood before his newest acquisition: a vintage Pitney Bowes postage meter.

"Why buy a postage meter, Arthur?" his daughter had asked. "You don't even send Christmas cards." "It’s about the mechanics," he’d muttered. "Precision."