Friday night arrives with[out] a suitcase.

Keenan and Lisa--

You guys wont know that I've written this until tomorrow, but it is now 7:27, and we have dinner in an hour. Fuck. My apartment is still a disaster, and I don't have the will to even get in the shower let alone clean it. I'm exhausted, so I'm sure that you, Keenen, are too right now. Damn, for all the shit I don't have, my back sure feels like I have a shitload.

I'm about to get in the shower and walk down the hill for the last time and meet you guys at the base of Mason. And eat some fried chicken. Sweet.

You know, I wanted this letter to sound amazing--like some sort of all encompassing brief tome of the history of KLM--and then I realized that we're not done.

I will say, however, that you guys are right now, pretty much the only reason I'm really sad to be leaving. The rest will hit me in a few days time.

So--let's not say goodbuys, K? Let's say, as Rob in Miami once told me, "see you later", and since we're having dinner here shortly, I will, indeed, see you later.

I love you guys.

And thank you. For everything.


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