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Mr. Blumenthal

For as long as anyone could remember, Mr. Blumenthal had had the antique stamp store to the left on the ground floor of Persimmon Street number seven. Tall, thin, and gray throughout, Mr. Blumenthal seemed as serrated along the edges as the stamps that were his passion. His stale-smelling dark shop was filled to the brim with leatherbound collection books, and the window displayed postage from all over the world as if it were expensive jewelry. Yet that did not seem to work against Mr. Blumenthal going out on dates with fashion models and hip-hop artists almost every night.


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