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I was one of the lucky guys: Dwayne G. was into the letter game, he had a low-paying job in corporate security, and the guys and girls he wrote to were so into it that he would get mail everyday from assorted Penthouse whores. In retrospect, his high school and college days were probably the best ones for him, because he wasnt involved with any girls who were writing letters to an ex-boyfriend or ex-husband. It was just as wholesome as watching surfers on a beach or a dog on the back of a pickup. To make it even better, I noticed that he didnt even send them to Sandra. (Sandra was like a high roller at a casino, always partaking in the highest stakes dice games. Sandra was on a game of her own, and she was an annoying girl. I actually wish that letter-writing came with an annual medical disclaimer that one must never be sent a letter if not completely sober.I was sitting at my computer; I glanced over at the breakfast nook and saw Sandra, standing in a black short-sleeved dress, with her hands behind her back. She looked like a poetess, and a very good one. I was a little worried that she was going to introduce me to her ex-boyfriend or boyfriend. It was the way she looked at me for a few beats, as if she was trying to figure out if I was a human. Im more frightened of non-humans than of humans. I bolted to my feet. She looked my way and smiled, a big smile, and I felt like I could see my entire life in her eyes. I came back to the table and Dwayne gave me this look, like he was saying, Dont be such a chump. I started to shake Dwayne out of his seat. I am not going to sit here and write you sappy letters.
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