Dear Robert
May Inside. I think this film is brilliant. It’s the Thomas Crown Affair and Heat. I love it. I’m away in Derby so if you feel like being depressed please do visit. I have many hotels from which to choose from all of which require a bunker mentality, and true grit. If I was you, and I am clearly not, having finer legs and a pigeon chest, I would keep this letter as it’s bound to be worth a substantial amount after my time has come etc. Do you think I should send you parts of my body in the hope that science will find a way to re-create myself with a happy go lucky outlook? I guess you could keep them in the freezer next to the veggie produce. They would like that.
I’m having some weird dreams lately, all to do with a house falling apart. The house is very old, and it’s always raining outside. I suppose next there will be large stones outside with singular eyes watching. Does this mean I’m ill in some way or that the future is bleak/tropical?
I hate it when you don’t call. It’s been 4 years since you phoned me. What does that mean? Should I take the hint or take out an advert in the Echo? Why do they call it the echo? Is it one person shouting in a vast telescopic entry in Anfield? I think they got it wrong and it really should be called reflection, in which case we are surely doomed as was that bloke who kept his Polaroid in the attic.
Anyway it’s been nice talking to you in a purely fictional way of course.