Dearest FAM,
I heard about you from the backseat of a taxi parked in the hot traffic of Mexico City. The city brambling your names like endless dust on a road. to nowhere. So I took note of it, and placed the moleskine back into the jeans of my back pocket. Many things I'd like to say while your asleep, so far away in what North American state is that? Rhode Island, thats right. But there's always one thing you could do, one of you, and that is: write terrible poetry if you want to survive. At this point, find as many poetry contests around and submit terrible poems if you want to pay next month's rent. Yours By Night, Roberto B.