"I got to your house and saw you had mail. The letter had no return address. Just your name on the front and a couple pages of text. I took it inside and told you, 'Someone's got something to say.' You looked confused. You always do. You said: 'Read it, cause I can't. I've had too much to drink.' It read:

'Dear Ben, you said you missed my call; but you missed ten. They say that when someone needs a friend, you should try to be their friend; and I have, but you haven't been yourself when you use your terms so loosely. 'Smoking' isn't what it used to be. And you know what else? I have gotten three new haircuts since the last time that you noticed; and somehow, I've managed to stop hating myself.

I need you to come on with me but without the toxicity. You don't even have to give up pot. I just need to know you're not...'

But those last two lines were scratched out; and beneath them in their place were the words I never thought I'd read to you, sent to you from May:

'I changed my mind. I don't need you, but I need to be alright. Alright? And you were right; although, you were high. So don't apologize. Don't apologize. The other night when you called me I was fine until I saw my phone ringing and its bright light on the far side of the room, and I thought of things I'd do to answer you back when you were still in school and when you had a face that grew, not a face that decayed just like me and you. I need to be fine. I need to be alright, so goodbye.'

And when I finished reading, you said, 'You're fucking with me,' and I said: 'No. I wouldn't cause May is all you have or had.' And now I'm telling you this again cause you don't remember, and you used her letter as a rolling paper, a garbage can to put yourself in. Maybe that's where you belong. Maybe May is right. Don't pass me your bong. I'm going home. Good luck and good riddance and goodbye." - Roger