Innovation

Selling Paragraphs in Envelopes

A radical concept

It was such a beautiful autumn Saturday morning that Linda and Johnny decided to go for a stroll down Main Street.

After putting on a light sweater Linda fished through her purse and wallet, “Johnny, do you have any one-dollar bills? All I have is fives and tens and twenties.”

“Are we going to a strip club?”

Linda flashed him a look of contempt, “No. It’s for the envelope guy.”

“The envelope guy?”

As Johnny held four one-dollar bills in his hand Linda took one, “Yes, the envelope guy. You’ll see. And I’ll pay you back as soon as I get some change.”

The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the breeze was blowing multi-colored dried leaves off the trees. Main Street was surprisingly filled with people. That was something that had become increasingly uncommon.

Linda and Johnny walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk alternating their focus between the displays in shop windows and the human activity all around them. There was little conversation as they enjoyed the delightful morning.

Abruptly, Linda pulled her hand away and pointed down the block, “There he is! It’s the envelope guy. See that old man sitting in the tiny chair next to the little folding table? That’s the envelope guy.”

“So he sells envelopes?”

“Well not exactly. He’s a writer. On a piece of paper, he will hand-write a paragraph. He prints; no script, no typewritten words. It’s just one paragraph. Sometimes it seems like a paragraph from a novel, sometimes it’s just a paragraph that stands alone, and sometimes it’s almost like poetry. Each paragraph is original and they are never used more than once. He folds the paper with the paragraph then puts it in an envelope and seals it. Nothing is written on the envelope.”

“Then he spreads all the envelopes with paragraphs inside on his little table. You give him a dollar bill and you can pick and take an envelope. And he doesn’t take credit cards or coins or any denomination of bills other than singles. So then you wave your hand over all the envelopes to find the one that speaks to you, the one with just the right vibes, and you can take it.”

“You’re shittin’ me, really?”

“I’m serious. Sometimes the paragraph is long and sometimes it’s not so long. Sometimes it is very uplifting, sometimes it’s dramatic, and sometimes it’s just silly. Often the paragraphs are very beautiful. They’re like little works of art. And sometimes they even have some specific meaning; something that you personally need to read.”

“So they’re like fortune cookies — except they’re not free.”

“Well, not exactly. For one thing, they are a paragraph, not just a short phrase. And they don’t predict fortunes. And fortune cookies aren’t exactly free since you’ve got to buy a meal first. And the messages in fortune cookies are computer-generated in quantity in some factory. These paragraphs are original, hand-written, and created by someone putting their heart and love into their work. So no, they are not like fortune cookies.”

“Are the envelopes edible?”

Linda rolled her eyes.

As they reached the man’s table Linda handed him the dollar bill she had gotten from Johnny. She then closed her eyes and waved her opened left hand over all the envelopes on the table. She moved her hand round and round several times until it suddenly stopped. She opened her eyes and picked up the envelope directly under her hand. Bowing to the old man, she said, “Thank you so very much. Have a wonderful day.”

The old man smiled, “You’re welcome and bless you.”

Moving her purse up to her shoulder Linda began walking off. She held the envelope firmly between the palms of her hands in front of her heart.

Walking beside her, Johnny asked, “Aren’t you gonna open it?”

“In a minute. Right now I’m feeling the vibes. When an artist puts their heart and soul into something they create that intense creative energy and everything the artist was feeling is embedded in what they create. By holding their work you can feel their creative joy, their love, and every feeling they felt as they created it. That is as important or even more important than whatever they created. We stare at a beautiful painting not just because it’s pretty but also so that we can feel what the painter went through and felt and the beauty the painter was seeing and feeling and expressing. It’s because of the energy, the vibes. I’m feeling the creative energy.”

It was Johnny’s turn to roll his eyes.

“There’s a park bench. Let’s sit down and I’ll read my paragraph…”

Sitting on the riverbank the young woman watched a small lone tree branch flow slowly and effortlessly past her down the river. The tree branch made no sound. Her wistful eyes followed the branch until it was out of sight. She then stood up and proceeded to the top of the hill to watch the sunrise.

Johnny crossed his legs, “Well, he ain’t no Hemingway, that’s for sure. It may be nice and sweet but for a dollar? Seriously?”

“Johnny, I told you it’s mostly about the energy,” Linda refolded the paper and put it back in the envelope then put the envelope in her purse.

“Are you saving that?”

“Yes I am. I have a box of them at home. If I’m wanting to be creative and need some inspiration and to feel some creative energy I get the letters out and hold them for a few minutes.”

Johnny slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead.

“You know what? Let’s go back and this time you can get a paragraph in an envelope.”

“For a whole dollar?”

“Yes, you can afford that. Come on, I dare ya.”

Back at the table Johnny handed over a single and was about to immediately grab an envelope.

“Remember to close your eyes and feel the energy,” reminded Linda.

Johnny covered his eyes with one hand and quickly waved his other hand over the envelopes. Picking an envelope, he uncovered his eyes and said thank you to the envelope guy and he quickly turned to walk away before the man could say anything.

Walking down the street he quickly tore open the envelope and held the page with the paragraph between himself and Linda so that they could both read it…

The cobblestone street was reverberating with intense anticipation. For the young men in the street death could greet them at any minute. The excitement and the fear was palpable. Women cheered them on from windows and balconies. Distant celebratory music echoed in their heads. The men became speechless as they heard the approaching sound of hooves on cobblestone.

“Did you get all that?”

Linda nodded.

Johnny then crumbled up the paper with the paragraph on it as well as the envelope and tossed them into a nearby trash receptacle, “I wonder how much money that envelope guy makes.”

“I doubt it’s enough to pay his rent. But he’s doing what he loves and he’s sharing that. He’s moving a lot of energy and it’s only fitting that some energy comes back his way in the form of money. Personally, I think it’s a creative and innovative idea. I’m surprised I’ve never seen anyone else do that before.”

“Hey Linda, we’ve already window shopped on this side of the street. Let’s cross the street and window shop over there.”

“Okay.”

Linda and Johnny were about to step off the curb but waited as a truck full of tree branches passed by. They then stepped out onto the cobblestones of Main Street to get to the other side. Halfway across the street Johnny flinched. For just a second he thought he heard hooves.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.

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