Mit Till 6 — Machs

Not until . Till. With a capital T. His name.

The ticking got louder as I walked through the dark hall. Dust swirled in the evening light. And there it was: the blue table. On it, a smaller envelope, my name on it. machs mit till 6

I was nineteen, broke, and had a scar on my chin from a fight I didn’t start. Till was fifty-two, smelled of coffee and old paper, and ran the last independent courier service in the city— Till & Sohn . Except the Sohn had run off to Berlin two years ago. Not until

Till always said the same thing when he handed you the keys to the delivery van. "Machs mit, bis 6." Make it work, till 6. His name

I opened it. Inside: a photo of Till, young, laughing, arm around a woman holding a baby. On the back: "He was six months old when they took her. I never stopped looking. Tonight, they give her back. Just leave the package. Machs mit, Till."