Firefly

Dear BS,
I noticed CC's mail is gone. Did you pick it up, or some local identity thief? I sincerely hope it was you, for CC's sake. Incidentally, did you break the lock when you picked it up, or was that some local wannabe thief? Picking the lock when he picked up the mail. Or she, for that matter. Who knows? Maybe I did it when I was drunk. I haven't been drunk lately, though, so. And besides, I always come in through my door in that situation. Quicker to the bed.
Jeez, Bill, I saw the first girl I ever made out with tonight. We had a brief (thank God) and boring (thank God) conversation. She hasn't grown in an inch in the past 12 years. Can you believe that? I've got a ten year old cousin taller than she is. What a disaster that night was, so long ago. Last spring I made out with the girl I should have made out with that night. Took 12 years to set things "right," but what's right anyway? Timing is more right than right. The 12 years set the right thing all wrong. well, not all wrong. Still, now there's a new right. Anyway, this girl, now she dates my friend's friend. Runs a bar in Fells Point. It was actually really nice, a sort of time gauge, to be able to have this simple conversation with her, very mechanical catching-up, and all the intermediate years stacked up in between, that was me then, this is me now, and all the stuff in between you won't know about me and I won't know about you, and who cares, right? A kind of time miracle. Wounds all heals.
When I picture Death personified, and when I picture it happening, I picture him sitting beside me on my bed, asking, "So what have you been up to since I saw you last?" And usually I tell him everything, all through the years, all the good stuff I can drag up, and I try to be honest about the bad stuff too, cause I figure Death would respect that, and besides, if this is my last testament on earth, I might as well try for the truth. But tonight I picture it going more like my conversation with the first girl I ever made out with, on the bottom bunk at a party 12 years ago. I do this, I do that, I've been doing this, living thus. And the intermediate years? Death won't even ask. We'll just catch up, and then go our separate ways, he to his next chore, me to....
I can hear Mason coughing.
I can hear Zuzu talking. She's saying, "Hello-o-o-o. Go to bed."