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Why Stamp Collecting Is Suddenly Back in Vogue

GORGING ON HBO in Washington, D.C., while waiting for the city to unlock itself, my eye wandered from TV to the media cabinet shelf where my long-forgotten stamp albums sat. An inveterate traveler now marooned by pestilence, I began leafing through them, every postmark a childhood touchstone: The Belgian king, dyed an unflattering rose, that I had nicknamed “pink head.” The Czech hockey team that seemed sad to be trapped behind their Iron Curtain. The tiny Laotian mahout atop his enormous elephant sparked dreams of jungle journeys across Southeast Asia. Each stamp was a ticket to a destination I would, and did, later…

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