Check your PO Box

   About five minutes after I walked out of class I had a train of thought that overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but write to you.

   It seems that at our age, we don’t believe wholeheartedly in most things anymore. I can’t pick up a fantasy novel in a bookstore without involuntarily squirming. I no longer believe wholeheartedly in the endings of romantic Hollywood films. Sure, there’s advertising, but who really believes there’s a difference between two products besides its labels? Unless we’re talking Coke and Coke Zero.

   I digress. I walk into bookstores mostly to look at book cover designs. Can’t imagine where I would go to catch a breather if they all had the same plain hardcover binding. That must be the reason why I was compelled to buy so many of them home and stack them side by side like they look in a bookstore (my own visual gallery) and why I rushed off to buy those posters for my walls. I can’t stand a blank canvas. Twice Josh said at work today: ‘Less is more’.

   You don’t write back anymore. How’s everything in Bangkok/Surrey/Venice? Where are you? I still don’t know where you are, or when you will get this letter. I hope it reaches you well.

   I’ve recently taken an interest in comedy, but for me to write about it here in such a serious letter seems to defeat its purpose.

   I sometimes wonder if a very smart man whose work I’m reading would frown upon my love for images and graphics. You wouldn’t approve of me calling him the ‘very smart man’, would you? Other times I’m confronted with a host of questions that I have no reply for. Have you felt that way before?

(Parts of this letter have been excluded to prevent boredom)

From your friend,