2003-01-25| 4:55 p.m.
I never knew how good I had it. I don't think any of us did, except maybe you-- you were always the oldest, the one looking towards the future, towards a life outside of ours.
And you--our best idea yet was petty vandalism, because when I open my bottom drawer I know what's going to be there. Scrawled in blue marker, the epitaph of my youth.
I understood it when you said you cried writing what you wrote, and I told you I would have cried too.