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e-mail to wastetheafterlife@gmail.com

((haha I am way too lazy to send this as an actual e-mail...anyone pointing out the flaw in my logic will be bludgeoned))

John,

Uh, so. I don't really know how to start one of these things, and I hate to be a girl and be like 'are you mad at me,' but, well...are you? I just haven't heard from you and...yeah. Get back to me, I guess. I miss you.

Helena

Secret of the Easy Yoke (Left and Leaving)

She has never mentioned this to her mother, but Liz is always ready for Abe to leave and Helena knows it.  It's in the way her mother makes the bed when he's gone; only one side folded down, the other left cool and crisp, patterns on the bedspread like ice on a window.  Her eyes empty themselves of color, cold fingers smoothing the sheets of memory and warth.

... Something about trousers?  I dunno, it kind of ruins the rhythm but apparently I wasn't paying enough attention in English that day.

Anyway, I'm all 16 and stuff now.  Woohoo.  Cake and whatnot forthcoming.  And...driver's permit. 


Ummmmmm.  Presents? :D?

..............shit.

Well.  At least I know I wasn't exaggerating or over-reacting or making shit up or...what the fuck is going on. 

This has to have been when I was there, it's too big a coincidence not to be.  So...fucking awesome.  I guess I should tell my parents. 

[Municipal Park]

((After this blah blah blippity blah.))

Helena has migrated to a bench, and is sitting in katamari position--this is to say, she is balled up and could easily be rolled. Although things would probably not stick to her.

John suddenly popping into existence is at least for the moment more comforting than it is unnerving. "Hi. Um. Sorry it's so late."