there's a man who stands on the boardwalk and plays his guitar and ukulele in tandem. he wears railroad conductor overalls, the only other person besides mollie to do so.

i've left him behind. i've also left behind towels and sheets and random magazine clippings and a house full of friends and mildew and smells and burned cds and beer in and out of cans and too many cigarettes and a sense of belonging and security and milk and rachel and the letters i'd written to them all and my address and a job and countless customer complaints and inhibition and assateaque island and movie night and darren's guitar.

i feel sick with missing them. and i can't wait to see you all. (i would actually be calling you right now if dad hadn't been on the phone all night. i'm sorry i missed seeing you, rob) i start school on thursday. pray for me.

i love you all. i'll have stories as soon as i can sort them all out in my head. i think i should sleep now.