By eight the little shop on Corner Street already had a line of numerals waiting with their coats folded. The sevens stood a little taller than the ones, which nobody minded. Each digit was given a porch no wider than a thumbnail and asked to practice sitting above a painted doorframe before going out into the neighborhood.
We asked at the kiosk next door. The grocer said the postman had been nodding first for years, and it was only fair the houses learned to nod back. A note in the shop's thank-you book, written very small, read: the four on Maple Lane sits beautifully; please do not hurry the five, it still likes to look both ways.
By evening the same four came back for a second porch, just to be sure. The postman tipped his cap to the eaves, the digit showed exactly one address, and the street, for one quiet delivery, felt fully introduced.