Life's Good Though.

We throw words around light as a feather.  No substance, no weight.  Another Mylar balloon waiting on inevitable deflation and dolphin suffocation.  Promise, the unwanted newborn left in a bathroom stall.  Cliches, last years fashion hangs in a Ross store, next to the big ass tub of gummi worms. Worst of all you and others lob these kind words, knowing their worth is penny ante.  Jordans at the flea market, Prada shades in the beauty salon.  A keen eye and common sense usually prevail, but many will be deceived.  Flight on wings sprung forth from what was thought to be a mutual love and respect wither under the weight of falsehood.  Then poof "best friends become strangers."

Therein lies a mystery Mosley couldn't pen.  I don't have enough loot to hire the Hardy Boys, and Bill Duke got me to cop to some shit I did when I was 8 years old.  So, the resolution lies with you.  A conundrum that will be taken to your grave, or Twitter...or Facebook....anywhere but here.  Speak to the wind, long as it's not blowing the truth in my direction.  Meanwhile, I prepare for my staycation under this bus...

And all I attempted to do was be the friend I thought you were to me...

If this grows Sonic shoes and gets to you, best believe this is not a plea for any semblance of the past to be salvaged.  That shit is dead, if it ever had a heart to begin with.  I would like to close the last chapter then hurl the book into the fireplace, but not before we discuss what has transpired and you hold to your words like a decent human being.

There is no laundry being aired...only your guilt.

Skeeter wouldn't have done this to Scooter.