Dear John letter
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Sunday, March 1, 2015
By the time you read this, I'll be in jail. Three hots and a cot, and the judge says I can refuse to see anyone I want, including you. Finally. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I've misplaced my copy of Paul Simon's "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" and I had to improvise.
I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. I just need to put this facade you've been living to an end, before I run out of script material. Ghostwriters cost a fortune.
I want to tell you that I think you're ...more than passable, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're wanted in nineteen states, and I'm a member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell. You like navel lint collecting, talking like Captain Kirk, and making faces at babies until they cry, and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things. How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever it is that I need to confess my most heinous sins on my deathbed.
I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least while we were in separate cells at the police station.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.
~ Jenny is being disconnected, so don't try calling).