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Dear Tara,

I'm sorry your holidays are disappointing over there. What about your birthday, though? 23 isn't a bad number. Shit, we're old. So do they at least celebrate Christmas there? That's a pretty major holiday even if it can be depressing. It's Christian and Pagan. Are the Christian over there?

Have you been making art? Do you even have time? I miss those crazy, whacked out portraits you used to do. I bet you could sell them and then never have to work again. I'm thinking about this because I absolutely hate my new job. I really hate that I have to earn money. It'd probably be more fun to be a white hat for the FBI, but it's not like I could trust them either. I hack the wrong thing and they'll make me disappear. It's not all bad, though. My boss is actually a good guy. His name's Gideon. It's cool working with Ange, too.

I've got a new place. It's a piece of shit loft, but it's closer to AllSafe. I need that since I always seem to be running late. I never know what time it is, but you know that already.

It's easier to write letters than to talk. I can just vomit everything onto this page and then I don't have to immediately worry about what you're gonna say. I can delay my panic for a few weeks. I also don't have to worry about social cues for responses. You get that, right? Please say you get that.

Hey, by the time you get this, it'll only be another six months until you're home.

Love, Elliot