There never seems to be a shortage of very hot courier studs in Los Angeles and New York. The West Coast ones often arrive on motorcycles, but they're always in a hurry to leave. They breeze in smelling of leather and the great outdoors.
Before the cellular age, they would always ask if they could use the phone, so they might linger around for a bit, but no more -- now they're gone in a flash. There's a particularly hot one who must have a route that includes my California house. He's a blond god, about 6'3", and impeccably polite. I imagine he's a struggling actor. Too bad he's never asked to use my bathroom.