Four Empty Lines

The envelope came with the electricity bill. Corin almost threw it away. Then he saw the name of his town on the front, Kilcarrig, and he sat down at the kitchen table.

A university was doing research about small towns. “We received your name from the town office,” the letter said. “We hope you will respond.”

The last letter with his own name on it had come two years ago.

There were twenty questions. How many shops were in the town? Was there a cinema? Where did people go on Sunday?

Corin answered them all in small, careful letters. The cinema had a red door and a broken clock above it. The bus came twice a day, and one winter it didn't come at all, and everybody walked.

The last question was different: “Is there anything else about your town that we should know?” Under it were four empty lines.

Corin looked at the four lines. Then he took a notebook out of the drawer and wrote six pages.

At the bottom of the last page he wrote: “The purpose of your research is good. If you have more questions, please write to me again. I am at home most days.”

Then he walked to the post office on the corner and mailed it.