As far as days went, it could have been worse, Booko Stamps reasoned. His first week on the job had been rather boring, carting letter after letter around his locale, with the occasional package or oddity crossing his path. Whether it be a runaway baby carriage filled with fireworks, or a rooftop disco flash mob, Stamps found the job had its share of unexpected hazards.

Today, however, would take the cake. And thirty-nine more, Stamps reasoned.

As the lanky mailpony careened through the endless abyss, carried by a rogue Grappleglorp, his mind flashed through his intriguing, but short, career as one of Equestria's finest. From the day he earned his cutie mark delivering a lost bag full of mail in his neighborhood, to traveling inter-dimensionally to deliver mail to the Spirit of Chaos, Booko had seen enough to put grays into even the toughest of young postal workers' manes.

And that was before he had even reached his destination.

His mind still struggled to process what he had seen: nothing in any dimension should need that many razor-sharp teeth, nor should anypony be able to walk with their ears and mane, though that was nothing to say of the spiderponies...

Booko suppressed a shudder, the claws of the Grappleglorp digging into his sides as Eldritch abominations, used soda cans, and that scone he swore he ate for lunch, with the hair right on the top careened past. His mailbag almost emptied, Booko straightened his cap before his captor soared through an open portal. Where it would lead, he had no clue. It could lead home, to Fillydelphia, or it could lead to a universe where everything was made of cheese. Would the Grappleglorp become a Muenster? Would he see his quaint front yard once more? And would he finish his shift on time?

Those queries and more filled Booko's head with wild theories, hopes, and fears. Remembering his oath to the mail service, taken in a back room of the city hall, administered by the greasy-faced janitor, Stamps straightened his uniform and held his bag close as the portal closed behind the pair.

"Neither rain, nor sleet, nor a random beat, will stop the E.P.S. from their duties." Booko recalled. "They'll be adding 'nor inter-dimensional abominations' when - or if - I return."

He was certain his tale would be legendary, talked about through generation and generation of mailpony, all to impart the crucial wisdom to never accept a delivery to the Spirit of Chaos. Discord had a P.O. box in Canterlot, though the carriers usually found it filled with nearly anything but mail. His ignorance left the lowly workers to draw straws over who would have to deliver dimensionally, and Stamps' time had come.

As the Grappleglorp shot out of the portal, bright sunlight pierced his eyes, the duo crashing into a pond shortly after. Water filled his eyes and mouth, but his mailbag's waterproofing enchantment held steady. Catching the shore, Booko crawled to the grass, and breathed in the fresh air. Struggling to his hooves, he saw the skyline of the city in the distance.

There was but one problem.

Booko had no idea what city it was.

And so, with bag in tow, Booko Stamps made for his next destination, bearing a new addition to his postal creed, and no regrets.

Though, a desk job sure wouldn't hurt any.