Why is a monkey knocking at my door?

I asked myself, peering through the spyhole at the tiny figure on my mat. The sound was polite, like someone testing the freshness of a small melon. I slowly moved the curtain and looked out. Standing on the porch was a small, serious-looking monkey wearing an oversized pair of reading glasses taped to his head.

I opened the door, and this studious ragamuffin pulled a thick, water-damaged book from his tiny backpack. He pushed the book at my chest, then pointed to a sticker on the cover that clearly read, "OVERDUE." He then held up five banana peels, using them as a substitute for cash.

"You're paying your library fine with banana peels?" I whispered, trying not to laugh. He glared at me. He then pulled out a tiny, laminated card that said, "Local Courier Service." He wasn't paying the fine; he was collecting it. I shook my head, quickly found five quarters, and exchanged them for the five peels. He snatched the coins, placed them carefully in his bag, gave a very formal bow, and sprinted down the driveway, clearly late for his next stop.

PV