Driving around Mayretta, today, I got to thinking. Of course, for some reason it was kicked off by listening to Tyr, one of their ballads, and remembering one of the Marine’s tattoo, then remembering him. Yeah, weird thing, remembering a Latino guy listening to Norse music, shoot me. Anyway….

Dear Mike-
I still smile when I think of you, like I said I would, and sometimes wonder what you’re up to. I wanted to say that I understand why you refused to say goodbye to me, because that’s a signal of finality. The end to another chapter in a long book. But that’s ok. We were kidding ourselves when we skirted the issue that last day, because we were saying goodbye. I know, that I will never see you again, unless by chance we end up in the same city. For a while, I did try to look for you, hoping to at least find out if you were well. I know you’re happy, hell, I would be to, if I were getting out of a state I hated and doing the job I was trained to do. But I do miss you. I know it’s weird, because I shouldn’t, but I do. I guess that comes with the territory of being the one that stoked the Marine fetish. You were a comfort to hang with, lived experiences I’ll never have, but were willing to share. It was even fun discussing how to prepare various worms and crunchy bugs for eating, in the middle of a restaurant. I also miss the concerts, haven’t yet found someone to go with me to some of the off-the-wall ones, yet.

Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying yourself, and the gf-person didn’t smash the boarhead. I hope it’s happily sitting on your kitchen table with an apple shoved in its mouth. Just wanted to say goodbye, thanks for coming into my life when you did, it was a fun ride.

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