You don't call, you don't write. And God only knows how to find you the way you move around like a Gypsy.

Just please tell me that you haven't fallen in with the Hipsters. I've had a rough year. I don't think I could bear the idea of you with a skullcap and an unkempt beard skateboarding over the Brooklyn Bridge. I'd seriously consider ending it all****.

**** For you, not for me. I'd toss you off the bridge. But it would be out of love. A mercy killing of sorts.