I worked a 8 hour shift on my 21st birthday. It was Sunday. I was working at the railroad during Ghost Train at the time. I went in late because my parents and the delightful combo of Rus & El had came up for the weekend. They were here to celebrate halloween, my birthday, and all the other things associated with a mountain vacation. After I got off, I think I had a meeting. My feet hurt so bad, that every step nearly brought a tear to my eye.

The day before, I worked a 15 hour shift with a 1 hour break inbetween regular hours and ghost train hours. I ate chilli, then a piece of fruit tart. I got some money and light up stripper shoes. After all, I was going to Vegas in a few days. That was the reason I made no big fuss about it.

I don't know how to describe the tailspin that happened between October 2 and October 19. I know I dicked around until we went to Vegas. I remember what happened in Vegas. We flew back on the 18th. I don't remember anything about the 19th except that I decided to take a bath to scrub the muck off of my feet that accumulated in Vegas. Bryant walked into my apartment as I was getting out of the tub. The rest is blurred, horrible history.

I just wish you would have found a way to come to Boone that weekend. I know you were too cool to visit or had to work or get high or all three.

I don't remember any of your birthdays except for the very first one. You were born on easter and that really fucked up my day. I remember the chaos, aunt shelly fucking up the turkey, and bringing mom a magazine. I wish I could remember more. I know they were delightful.

So today would have been your 21st. Do you know how many people would kill to have their 21st be on a Saturday? I can't even fathom what would have gone on or what kind of party we would have had. You would have been so different than who you were at 18.5. In my dreams, you would have ditched those retard friends and would have been in Boone. Preferably in Pine Street #5. Part of me feels that it would have been so good for you (if nothing else, because Bryant still lives there) and part of me recognizes that you could have easily been another sucker who went to Bamboo road, found meth and locals, then died in mountain city. At any rate, some level of debauchery would have been had somewhere and I probably would laugh. Something I don't expect to happen on any April 19th from here on out.

I miss you. I miss you to the point of exhaustion. Do you know how bad Mom is at being my wingman in Super Mario Galaxy? Do you know how bad I am at being Mario? I hate dying. Beyond my complete lack of caring, my eye had coordination is horrible. My palms get sweaty. I'm just bad at it. I would be so much better as a wingman. I would get smack those starbits like they owed me money.

I hate dying. Virtually or in real life. I'm just bad at it. I still love you though. Every single day.