Dick's pretty sure it's Wednesday, and he's stumbling out of the front door. It's dark outside, thank God, because the motherfucking Jose Cuervo has had him under its spell for who the fuck knows how long.

He leaves the door open behind him, trips out into the yard and plants his feet in front of the mailbox. He waits for Beav to yell at him to close the door, and when he remembers his brother is dead he takes another hit from the bottle hanging between his fingers. He swats the mailbox open, grabs the pile, and hopes there's at least a Playboy in there or something. Fuck the condolence cards, he flings them into the grass as he walks back up the driveway. If someone really wanted to make him feel better they'd fucking send him a Playboy, or a whore, or at least some more liquor. He doesn't need a goddamn greeting card. Just as he's tossing away a letter swathed in a black envelope, the next item in the pile catches his eye. He kicks the door shut, falls onto the couch, and rips it open with his teeth.

As fucked up as he is, he recognizes the letterhead and reads about every fourth word but it's still enough for him to figure out what's going on, because he's not a fucking retard, thanks. Dick isn't sure when Beaver'd had the time to do it, between all the raping and bus crashing, but in his hands is an acceptance letter from San Diego State. He sure as hell didn't apply to any motherfucking school, he only went to the college fair to scam on some sorority chicks and he definitely didn't write any damn essays. The letter is addressed to Richard and he can almost hear Beav laughing from down the hall.

Below that are a couple of rejection letters, another acceptance into a community college, and one from Hearst congratulating him and thanking Big Dick for his generous monetary contribution. The worst fucking part of it all, though, is the letter addressed to Cassidy Casablancas, welcoming him into early admission at Stanford. Fuck.

Dick clumsily pulls a lighter from his pocket and sets fire to the entire pile- bills, cards, shredded envelopes, college shit. While he watches it burn, he throws the tequila bottle against the mantle and stuffs the letters from Hearst and Stanford into his pocket, climbs the stairs and walks toward his brother's room for the first time since Dick became an only child again.