A stiff sheet of paper, lying in the street, run over numerous times:
I know it’s been a long time so I hope this doesn’t seem wierd, but I never felt quite right sending these out so I just hung onto them.
The last time I was at Jeff’s house he had a row of boxes by the front door. If you ever got one of his boxes then you know what I’m talking about; wind up toys, refrigerator magnets, little things. Like everything he ever gave, it wasn’t about the gift. He just wanted to see you open it.
I don’t know what happened to the boxes, but I did manage to keep the cards. I know it’s been a long time but I think I owe it to him to send them out and it just seemed like the right time. I still haven’t opened my card. I guess it feels like some little piece of time would escape forever once the envelope was opened.
He wrote one for Mark even: a Christmas card from a ghost addressed to another ghost. In what universe does that get delivered? Makes me smile.
There is a signature. On the reverse side:
I know it’s been a long time so I hope this doesn’t seem too wierd but I never felt quite comofortable