Letters: Day Eight

Michael, pre-Black Russians

Dear Michael,

I hope you made it home safely last night.

I was a little concerned after I spoke to you. You sounded very happy. Super happy. But you also sounded a bit . . . oh the hell with niceties.

You were sloshed! Marinated! Toasty, smoky, delightfully wasted.

I don't think my concerns are unfounded. I seem to remember a certain encounter between your bike and that out-of-control car. You can't really blame me!

I worry. Send word.

Aunt Bee

1 comment:

Michael said...

I'm good - thanks!