"Dear Bradford,
1. I stole your camera, the one you used to steal a photo of me
naked drinking from my flask in your bed. It was only fair. I
developed the pictures with every intention of returning them to you
(with mine removed, of course). I was half-disappointed/half-excited to
find the roll did not consist exclusively of naked girls in your bed
looking surprised—just as I’d been when you’d ordered me to say
“Cheese!” I guess I misjudged you. They were mostly family photos. From
Thanksgiving? Your mom seems nice. Anyway, sorry about that. I like the
one of you peeing, by the way, though it came out a bit blurry. I’d had
to snap it in a hurry, worried you might turn around at any moment and
completely ruin the naturalness I’d worked to capture in the shot. I
tried to get another one of you the following morning, but you had
locked the door that time. Anyway, they are doubles—a deal at K-mart.
2. I also stole five cigarettes; I wanted to smoke five at
once, like a five-pronged cigar, in the morning while you were in the
shower. I figured it was the equivalent of you stealing my last one
last week at my place before you slipped out the door. I have enclosed
five cigarettes in this package along with the photos as a gesture of
my goodwill.
3. I left some breakfast for you on your coffee table: beef
jerky and Gummi Bears. Did you like it? I picked it up from the dollar
store (along with a tiny bottle labeled “Spanish Fly,” some
disappearing ink and a Whoopee Cushion) while on my way to your place
Friday, already having an idea you wouldn’t ask me to dine in the
morning. Presumptuous? Sorry if you found it so.
An Open Letter to My Date of Last Friday
From the New York Press: an itemized checklist apology for the most uncomfortable date you'll ever have.
Art by Thomas Pitilli
