A little envelope from Finland arrived in my mail today, with a pretty Christmas card inside. Inside the card was a cryptically brief message as follows:
Cynthia:
Remember me still!
X'mas.
Johnson
DEC Finland
i remember you. i do not forget things like this; i was in China recently. But i have no way of reaching you. Maybe one day, all the drifters will unite, and we will see each other again.
And my arm is poofy and slightly numb from the ordeal it went through yesterday afternoon, under the orders of my inner sadist. Stacie-Rae was not kind when she stopped abruptly, only to say "oops"; the all-consuming feeling of piercing pain suddenly yielded to the stronger feeling of alarming distressful fright. However, over the speakers, Julian Casablancas and his posh band serenaded me with Last Night during the last pricks, to my surprise. Also a source of surprising delight and comfort was Son, as he fumbled to try to hold my hand.
And from the wasteland of CDs that is my room, i resurrected the burnt Strokes album and popped it into my stereo, while i rubbed polysporin into my fresh wound. I need to forgive myself.
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