Enclosed are 4 (four) handsets.

[boring instructions on what to do with said handsets]

I think this is the most phones we've ever sent at once, and for that I'm apologetic. I know the pain of Sisyphean toiling. My pappy was a coal-miner who died at the tender age of 17 from black lung. He took my momma with him. It is believed to be the only recorded case of black lung murder-suicide. Orphaned and alone, I took to working as an apprentice for a clog-maker (affectionately called a "clobbler") when only 5 years old. I have the scars and splinters to prove it.

What I'm saying is this: inside of all of us there's a little crying orphan boy franticly running down a back-alley somewhere in an ill-fated attempt to outrun a pack of feral stray dogs while making deliveries. If he drops his clogs, he can run faster - maybe just fast enough to outrun those dogs with their foaming-white diseased mouths - but the master clobbler will beat him. If he keeps the shoes, he'll surely get bitten, and if he gets rabies, he's a gone-er for sure.

This is a choice we all must make in some way or another. I trust you will have the wisdom to choose rightly.