Dear Tom,

I wonder what that kid is writing. Probably some "deep" shit about his poor life as a teenage boy. He's got those goddamn big pants on and a shirt with a rainbow on it. Probably a faggot. But I wonder what deftones is, probably some avant crap electronic band. His hair is obviously died black, probably in an attempt to scare business men like myself. Well I'm not scared. Concerned, maybe, for this new wave of generations that are straying from the corporate. I bet this little freak garbage here is dreaming of being a writer, or some famous artist, but in ten years he'll find himself in the same damn cubicle I dwell in. That kids probably stoned and writing decaying sentences about love or pain, or what ever the hell marilyn manson talks about. Probably wears a trench coat when its not so warm out. If that little shit were in Nam, he would see his true colors. That he's not some misunderstood genius and he's just a piece of shit that needs to kill to live. He wouldn't have lasted five minutes. He probably dodged the draft because of that. Well, he does look a bit young. I bet he would have dodged. He's got a green pen that just says END on it. Ohh, look at me, I'm abstract like van go and shit holes who try to run from productive life through paintings. Fuck that contemporary crap that's going around. Where are the days when we'd punish our kids for coloring on the walls, instead of selling it to an art museum? Little shit is still writing. Probably about the time he got drunk with his friends and skateboarded on my lawn at two in the morning. Man, I could use a drink. Fucking boss wants this stupid F.A.S. Case done by tomorrow. The kids better leave me alone. They have on respect for me or Darlene. Except maybe Joseph. Joe is my kind of boy. He could kick this sad faggot's ass in a second. Joe plays football while this kid pointlessly taps into his soul. Know what he's going to find? Nothing. Shit, when he discovers his it he'll discover he needs money. Then he'll need a job. Joe tells me he doesn't drink. I read in the newspaper about kids drinking that are in sports, all bullshit. If they didn't care about health then why are they exercising daily? Answer me that freak. What are those dress socks? You bastards better not take that from us. My daughter spends too much time with her friends. I don't see much of her, maybe its because I told her if I saw her with a guy before she turned 18, then I would castrate him and hang it from her ceiling fan. Let her damn mother raise her damn daughter. She's always leaving and coming back later than I'm awake. Of course I'm usually out by 10 with my scotch intake. Stupid P.M.S.ing bitch Darlene tried to tell me to stop the other day. With that nagging she wonders why I drink. I raised Joe right. I made sure he accelled in sports so he could get a better scholarship. His mother does most of his homework, but its ok because I told her she'd be saving money this way. There will be no liberations in my house. When I look at Joe I see what I want to. I found a condom in his room yesterday. Of course I took it from him. Make them think that sex is ok as long as you use a condom...bullshit. I only use one to make love to Sharon, Darlene's friend. You know, just in case she gets herself pregnant with my kid and Dan see's its not his. I don't want to have to kill Dan. Sharon is always in the mood. Well here's how that came about. Dan, from poker, was bragging about how rough his wife is in bed. Dan is usually a good bluffer, undeterminable poker face. So I decided to find out what his cards were. One night I snuck over there when Dan was out of town. Sharon was reading some romantic novel bullshit with some guy on the cover who looked like someone I knew in high school, you remember JacobWatson? Him. Anyway I snuck in through the back door and stood behind the chair she was reading in. "He lightly stroked her hair behind her ear, placed his cold hard finger on her quivering lip and said softly 'If we speak one word after this, may our love die for we do not need silly words, only our bodies and hearts'" I read from the novel. The crazy bitch never even jumped or stopped me. She turned around when I was done and stared at me. I could see she wanted it in her eyes. It looked like she was telling me I was beautiful, bit I couldn't tell because I had my eyes on her chest. I was mostly thinking about how much I didn't like Dan. But he was right, thats all I have to say about that. I visit her a lot more now, only when Darlene gives me guff about drinking and me being gone. Bad Example she says, you know whats a bad example? Setting an example. Kids need discipline. Joe's going into the army right after college, fight for his country, like his pops. He doesn't even need training. He could kill a whole dozen platoon of gooks on his own. I'd rather set a belt than an example. If I didn't want my kids to like me why would I bother to have sex with Darlene in the first place? She cried when I belted Joe, if I wanted someone who was weak I wouldn't be having Sharon on the side. She doesn't know that I have to hit him so others won't. This is really strange, this kid is still writing. Probably an art student writing about how war is wrong, bur freedom isn't. Stupid contemporaries, I've got war stories worse than anything in their self-consumed "destructive" minds. Real shit, not this science fiction garbage that captures minds, well they aren't going to change mine, or my children's. God I could use a drink. I swear my train never comes on time. Yeah, its only like a few minutes too late, but thats a few minutes I have to spend in this place. I seriously can't look around without seeing a person I know I'll hate. And with all this P.C. Bullshit I can't tell you a damn one without sounding like a bigot. Except for this kid here. Singling him out isn't generalizing. Fucking stoner piece of trash, I doubt he's even writing, probably drawing mushrooms or pot leaves or something. Yeah, I tried pot like once or seven times in college, but not every day like this shit. I can just tell. If Joe became friends with someone like him I'd shoot the kid, then beat Joe with his corpse. But Joe is smarter than that to become friends with bad kids. His best friend, Ted, is a great boy. The kid is an excellent Q.B. And is another fine example of an American. He and Joe spend a lot of time wrestling together in his room. Those two are inseparable. My wife is scared someone will get hurt in their little wrestling matches, and because they lock the door we can't save them. "They're men", I tell her, "If one gets hurt, they deal with it." And they're having fun. I don't know... I think I'd divorce her if it wouldn't screw up Joe so much. I've never loved. I don't think it exists. Logically, us getting married was the thing to do. Who knows though.. Sometimes I wish I was back in Nam. I mean, there, if you couldn't handle it, you died. All these people here in the train station would be dead. I can just see them now, running around in terror as people fall like leaves around them. I can see this kid with the pants stand in the middle, begging for peace. I see my own trigger finger give as he is shot through his face and neck by the other side. I had to shoot him, he was weakening the link of the chain. I can see myself standing in a waist deep diluted pool of blood where there are Americans mixed with charlie-esque corpses. I think I'm smiling, but I don't believe in Darwinism. I should be writing this stuff down. I realize now that I've been sitting here just imagining what I would write to you, but have nothing to show for it. The kid is looking at me now. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes look sympathetic. Like he's sorry about something. Here he says as he hands me this notebook. What the hell, like I'm going to read some shit that will bring me closer to the trees. "I wonder what that kid is writing. Probably some 'deep' shit..." A sudden wave of panic hit me. This familiarity is worse than anything I ever encountered in the swamps. Fuck, they had me in a camp for a month and tried to play with my brain, but I would never crack. I would never let them get inside. The enemy has no place in my head, and they have no means possible of getting there. Then what the fuck is this.. What the hell is this? Everything I read, I had previously thought. Every fucking word. Like he knew, does he think this is some sort of favor? That whole feeling sorry was because he wanted me to mail you my thoughts? I feel a lot more fucking comfortable with you knowing, some some complete stranger faggot shit, fucking write it. This is not possible, fucking... I look up at him. Well first off I've never touched a drug in my life, and second I'm straight. Speaking of which I think your son is more of a 'man's man' than you think. Have fun accepting that Mr. Bigot. With that he got up and took off to his train. That was freaky shit. I feel like the only thing that should not be touched has been desecrated, my thoughts. He has no right to know how I feel or think. I don't like to be judged, its not fucking fair to me. Shit, I hope Darlene doesn't find out, I mean I fucking trust you... But this kid... I look up and he's standing in a crowd about to get on. The hell he is going to get on. Maybe when knowing the thoughts and feelings of a person it no longer becomes judging, anyway it's better grounds than simply appearance. I stand up and run towards him with my fist clenched. This boy should no longer live, and I am going to be the source of this logic. I want to push him into the tracks, I want to see his legs and head be sliced off by the oncoming train, so he can see he is nothing, and experience it. He needs to die. He slid into a train and disappeared amongst the crowd of assholes. I sat back down on the bench and read it all. The most fucked up part is that the writing continued my following thoughts even after he gave me these papers. Voodoo garbage. I bet he obtained that shit from acid or some shit like that. How dare he speak of my son in that manner, if I see him again, I am going to chop off his fingers and force them into his eyes until I can read his thoughts. How dare he.. Well I figure since I have this letter written now I can just mail it to you, I think I'll type it up first though, just so I don't have to deal with this shit's handwriting. Have fun in Kansas.

Nathan H.