April 28th, 1977

My love,

I apologise for not writing again sooner, but I’ve struggled to find the words. A letter doesn’t deserve to be written, nor your time wasted, unless I’ve something worthy to say. I’ve been embarrassed by my behaviour, so I hide, then teeter constantly between running away and tackling my fear head-on. Much the same could be said about how I’ve handled everything in my life thus far, I suppose. I’ve wired you some more money, which should have arrived by now. If it hasn’t, then I fear for the teller who has to take your complaint. The women in New York are strong, but they’re Coney Island cotton candy compared to you.

I’ve left New York City, for now. There was too much lingering beyond that horizon to stay. It would take a million lives to see it all, and we’re only gifted the one. I was not falling out of love with her, but the city is too fantastical for its own good. I never thought I’d find myself saying that about anything, but maybe even the shine of a brilliant sunset can wear away when every day is punctuated by one. Perhaps it’s the shine within me that’s wearing. It’s getting harder and harder to tell.

I did something impulsive, though I think you would say entirely predictable: I bought that car. I couldn’t help myself. It was a good buy though. I think it’ll end up paying for itself in saved bus or train fares, and I can sell it on before I come home. I started driving in the vague direction of Chicago, and have found myself in a small town in Pennsylvania named Kane.

It’s so quiet here, and green. There is one bar and no traffic lights. I like it. I met a man who builds houses, called Rodney. He said he has some work for me if I’m fit and willing, and I figure I have at least a week or two before he realises I don’t know anything about building houses. Of what I earn, I will keep only what I need and send the rest to you. I’m sure you’re enjoying some time off from me, despite the circumstances. I hope you and Mark are well. Has he asked about me? If he has, tell him I’m just fine. If he hasn’t, then this absence is necessary to become the type of man he would ask about.