Dear Recipient (2),

By the time this reaches you, there will be nothing but neon lights in the whole city, and the shadows will be swallowed by the headlights, the swarms of them like crowds of bodies with shining eyes, and I’ll press myself between the dumpster and the brick wall in the alley where we used to smoke cigarettes. I’ll reminisce about the way you could get under a bridge unseen with a can of spray paint. I’ll reminisce about how you could close your eyes without the beating rhythm of some pulsing light show. Someone’s necessity, somewhere.

I’ll pick through the trash looking for artifacts. I’ll pull newspaper pages like oracle cards, assign meanings and symbols, put them in my mouth, and chew.