Better late than never

Dear Pete,

You'll never receive this letter. I've lost your adress, if it's still accurate. For all I know you might have left Vancouver, or even Canada, years ago. After all it’s been eight years since that slice of pizza you offered me at that hotel in Cancun, Mexico.

I’ve always wondered about that. Why did you do that? It seemed very odd to me. But I’m grateful that you did. Not that the pizza itself was anything to write home about, but we had a lot of fun the following days, didn’t we? At least I did.

I know I promised to write, but it just never happened. I do that often. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve run in to an old friend on the street and suggested we’d grab a beer sometime, I’d be a rich man. On the other hand; had I had all those beers I’d be an alcoholic by now.

Jess and I broke up less than a year later. She called me one day and said she wanted her records back, and that was it. Almost five years, and it didn’t mean more to her. We lost contact soon after that, when she found someone new. Although I suspect that he was in the picture earlier. It doesn’t matter anymore, just thought you wanted to know.

So how’s life? Do you still live in that house you were so proud of to have paid for up front? It must be nice to own your own home, without being in debt. I’ll probably never be able to do that, and like most other Swedes I’ll blame it on taxes, politicians, immigrants, bad luck, or what ever comes in handy. Or I can try to do something about my situation, like get an education.

You know what? I think I’ll do just that. I’ll write again in a couple of years, when I’m done filling out all the forms needed to get me into school.

Sincerely Yours