backforthmenu Half Way. A metal placard on the inside of the post office proclaims it an inductee to the National Historical register. On the outside, Korean workers walk scaffolds and fumble about the “site” making holes with their cordless drills, doing whatever restorers do. This goes on for months. Next door is the Harbor View House, a halfway house for the mentally challenged. Its bored occupants swarm the post office most of the day creating a strange brew of lunatics, foreign workers and the usual assortment of hurried postal customers. The Korean restorers field questions from the Harbor House people—most of whom have no clue that these men speak no English—as customers stream in and out ignoring everything but the contents of their own hands and heads. • Old toothless woman stands with arms out and palms up, shaking like a winter tree. Her mouth works up and down but lets no coherent words escape as she stares through you with murky eyes. • Dark, night-black woman sits like a sack of laundry on the stoop outside the heavy doors. She reacts to nothing here. A worked knit cap tops a head covered with crumbs or worse. • Young man looks normal except he breaks into occasional lunatic laughter. He asks for money in specific amounts; $1.35, 47 cents, $2.33. • Middle-aged Hispanic man in an emblemed sports jacket zigs and zags a pattern across the grounds, sometimes in the roadway, stopping traffic. He is oblivious yet seems to be in a hurry. He asks specifically for dollars. • Large, round, woman. Breasts to her waist. Asks if we can do something together for $5.00. 1994-1996