|steve (mcrory) wrote in repose,|
@ 2017-05-02 02:56:00
|Entry tags:||*delivery, *text, atticus mcvickers, janus allen, matt devlin, steve mcrory|
[Letter: Owen D]
I don't remember the last time I sat down to write a letter to you. Did I ever tell you, that when I thought you were lost, I would write to you? I sent you I don't know how many postcards until I was iced myself. I bet those things are worth a real buck these days. In Vietnam, I didn't send anything, but I wrote to you in this sketching journal I kept. So, thanks for all the listening.
I hope things are going well in Repose. I've been thinking a lot about you and everyone else. I know I left in a hurry and didn't get a chance to actually say goodbye. I'm sorry about that. Did you manage to look through the photos? There're some good ones in there. You were blinking in a couple, I remember. Some on the Alps. Remember how fucking cold that was? If I think about it too hard, I swear my feet turn into blocks of ice. The same goes for the swamps in Vietnam. All of a sudden, I'm sweating. So, pretend I didn't say anything and definitely don't think of how cold your feet were in your boots back in 1943.
Speaking of which, happy 100th birthday, you old man. I hope you at least went out and got drunk or did something. Did you ever think either of us would live to see 100? I didn't. I didn't know if we were going to make it out of the '40s. But, here we are. Old and older. But, hey, at least you've still got your looks.
I should get going, but I wanted to drop a line. So let me know how you're doing. [He includes a motel address in Nevada.] I might have a surprise for you in a week or two. Don't do anything stupid.
[Letter: Atticus M]
I took my time, didn't I? I said I'd write though, so at least I haven't completely reneged on my word. Right? Only partially. Anyway, I'm sorry for that, and I'm sorry for not doing this sooner, and, in case you're trying to keep tally here, I'm sorry for how abruptly I left. With all of that self-flagellation out of the way (hopefully), tell me about you. How you've been doing. Did Janus manage to take you on a date yet? I hope so. He's slow for a whippersnapper.
Things have been okay for me. I don't want to go into details, mostly because they're uninteresting, but selfishly too, because I'm trying not to think about anything too hard right now. Though, I will admit to thinking about you, if that's kosher. I've been wondering about what books you might've read or reread since I've been gone, what thoughts you've had about them. I've been working my way slowly through Kant's works. I found a quote I like. Since you can't stop me, I'm going to share it. "Everything has either a price or a dignity. Whatever has a price can be replaced by something else as its equivalent; on the other hand, whatever is above all price, and therefore admits of no equivalent, has a dignity. But that which constitutes the condition under which alone something can be an end in itself does not have mere relative worth, i.e., price, but an intrinsic worth, i.e., a dignity." What do you think about that? Feel free to share any quotes you'd like with me. I won't be able to stop you.
[Nevada motel address] is where I'm staying right now, so, if you decide you want to write back, that's where you'll find me. In the meantime, I hope everything's going well. I need to go pen a few lines to Janus, so I'll let you off easy and get going.
[Letter: Janus A]
How's it going? I can imagine you sitting there, reading this, rolling your eyes at how old-school this whole letter-writing thing is, but since I'll be turning 100 next year, I think it's okay for me to be a little old-school. You are under no obligation to write back, if you're too modern now, by the way. I just wanted to drop a line and see how you were doing. How's Repose? How's the Greyhound line? How's it going with you and Atticus? Last I remember you were sore at us for leaving you out, so I'm hoping you got in there and I hope you're playing somewhat nice.
I've been busy, but I'm doing okay myself. Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere in Nevada. I don't need to tell you that I might prefer the dryness to the wetness. At least this doesn't make the skin on your feet fall off. I'm in this hotel that's all peeling paint and crack-laced windows, but it's pretty homey and I haven't been sleeping on the floor, so I can't complain. Plus, they have a pool and they use enough chlorine in it that at least I know there's nothing alive left in there.
If you want to write back, I'll be at [Nevada motel address] for the foreseeable future. If not, no hard feelings. I'll write you again anyway. Keep fighting the good fight.