I haven’t heard from you for the past two months. I guess you may be already in Nuremberg getting ready for your course, or perhaps back to Sheffield babysitting that sod, or hopefully plucking apples with Vincent at Limoges. I miss you so much. My mother got a parcel sent from the east coast, she said your surname was written in the return address. I’ll go get it next weekend, I’ve not been home lately, you know. I bet it’s one of those film magazines they publish annually. You are a kind soul.
Days are getting shorter and piling up nicely. I’ve been cleaning up the shelves and organizing them. I found a book you lent me some time ago. I’ll let you guess which one it is by a quote: “Then he also left, leaving forgotten in the little hotel three shirts, an unpaired sock, a walking stick with ivory handle, a shower gel with sandalwood and two phone numbers written by pen in the plastic shower curtain.” Read it again.
I knew you’d guess it on the second round.
I’ve been trying to remember our last talk. I know it lasted for two hours and that we screamed with laughter, but I can barely recall something about an unfinished preface, Ancient Carthage and some incident with your loan. I hope things are going better between you and Paul. He's a stone in your road, though. You are a kind soul.
Sorry for not picking up the phone. I know you called me a few weeks ago. I was probably scribbling some nonsense and then I completely forgot about it. I’ve just remembered you asked me for a recording of me fooling around with those tales by Chukovsky. I might do it one of these mornings. I promise this time; you'll get it by fall. Let me know if you need me to check something of yours out. You know I’m a mess but I'm always down for your stuff. You are a kind soul. I miss you so much.
