I was living for a month in that house when I received the first envelope. It was a regular white paper envelope, with a peculiarity: his name was Martin. How do I know this? Because the name “Martin” was written on the front. I found it odd – my name is also Martin– but dismissed it. I put the envelope named Martin in a drawer and went on with my life. But these strange visitors kept arriving: every month, near the end of the month, another envelope called Martin appeared under the door. I gathered them all in the same drawer, not knowing what to do with them. Why were there so many envelopes named Martin? Someone must be too lazy to name envelopes. There are so many cool names to choose from — why Martin? I was later thrown out of the house of the mysterious envelopes because the landlord says I never paid the rent. The mystery remains unsolved.