Postmaster Green led Sean to the back. Green said, in his heavy drawl, “Hadda stick yer packages in these here cages.”
“Why?” said Sean. “Because they’re from Mexico?”
Green glared. “And the alien star, Wolf359, before that. I ain’t stupid, son. What’s in ’em?”
How could Sean explain? Would this hillbilly even understand? Might as well try the truth. “It’s parts for an interstellar overdrive, including a pr-257-g tachychlometer.”
“Horseshit!” said Green.
Sean sighed. “No, it really is.”
“I know,” said Green. He removed his hat and rubbed his third eye. “But you get better throughput from the px-354 series.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2019/11/20/22-november-2019/