Dear Jesse Lacey, I understand.

Humanity is at a stand still, the pests are among the cherished. There is little resistance and little hope. It's time to flee and get out of this waste of space with no one to call to. The closet is the only one who knows my weakness and it's filled with old soles that can't be worn. There is little left to notice on a Monday afternoon than the manicured lawns of the blessed along with wastefulness of the poor. Come now, don't get so tied up to the nonexistent, the wool has already been pulled. I'm tired of closing my eyes and making this city look new, with the sensitivity of the sun. Nothing is real, someone is moving us around. Who? What do you believe? Me. I am. From the past. I already planned this. Now sit down and put your pinky to mine, swear you won't think I'm crazy. At least pretend, in my presence. Where is the blood on your chest? We're at the beach, there's no blood. I must be thinking of a different one, or I just got something confused. I'm on fire, I'm burning up in here. Don't you agree? Isn't it hot? Don't you want to come with me? There's no room anyway. I invited you to come and then I said you couldn't. It's not a place for two it's a place for- I suppose I'm trying to do the best thing, the best timing is never. There's a clown on the radio who laughs when I'm trying to be sad.