Dearest Winston,
You have the deepest goodness, but you are a fool. How many years have I watched you breaking your back with your own two hands? You have sold yourself cheap to the world, and they have yet to pay even what they promised. Loyalty and time are precious, but you give them to the wind, to the vanishing clouds. You dedicate yourself to your own abuse, you take what's left of yourself for granted. Thieves rob you blind and you hold the door for them and smile. You help them with the heavy lifting. You trade a first class seat to heaven for standby to purgatory to gain an hour of sleep or a bit of string or the shadow of another's whim. Twelve hours of collecting scrap for three dollars and eleven cents becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, determined to make your estimation of your own worth as accurate as possible.
You take advice with a smile. You agree whole-heartedly. You were thinking the same thing yourself. Still, there you are, year after year, plowing under the crops, harvesting the weeds. You are a noble fool with another heart where your brain should be. You'll outlive us all, poor bastard. You'll dig your own grave when the rest of us are long gone. You'll lie down in the dirt and think, as you close your eyes, "Things will get better soon."
These are things that I thought you should know. I say them in love; I hope you can believe that.
Your friend,
Scott
P. S. - Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
