Subj: I Know You Said Not to Write
I’ve been thinking about you. The weather’s been in a sour mood. There’s a causal link there but I can’t figure out which way it goes. You said once, smiling, that you were cursed to umbrellas, good coffee, and books.
Did you know that the rain was lukewarm and perfect on that night you bailed on skinny-dipping? I imagined your shoulderblades.
Sorry. There’s no easy way to say this; I need to ask you a favour. In person. Come to the pub the day after you receive this letter. I’ll explain everything.