Dear
Harold,
It was
awesome to hear from you, bro. I was pretty sure you never wanted to talk to me
again. I’m pretty sick and reckon the only way I’ll be leaving this hospital is
in a box. But at least I know that you are ok and that you still think of me as
a friend.
The doc
says I have AIDS and that I’m not sane (duh). Whatever. I rolled the dice and
now I’m paying the price, right?
Is
Lilith ok? I had this terrible nightmare and Smack Death drugged her up on
account of he thought she was a witch, only he gave her too much and she
overdosed. He buried her under a pine tree at the cabin. In the nightmare, you
came home and turned into a demon. The voices told Smack the only way to get
rid of the demon was to cut its head off.
Crazy,
right? It was like so real. But half the shit I see and hear aint really there
at all. I should have listened to you and Lilith and sobered up, but that shit
had me by the short hairs...
I feel
like hammered dog shit, bro. But your letter and card has made my ending
bearable.
Keep on
making music, bro,
love,
Chad
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