Not in the mornin' when yo shit works

James is sitting on his bed six feet away writing his blog post for the week.

I thought it would be a good time to write to you.

He's playing Sam Smith for me.

Do I live under a rock? -That's what his brother wanted to know

when he found out I hadn't heard any of his music.

Probs, dude.  I probs do.

This weekend was a good one for the two of us, I think.

He doesn't like the face I make when I'm loving him.

I can't help that, though.  

We watched The Lost Boys lazily in the living room.

Of course I thought of you and that midnight show we went to.

That was such a good night.  Just eight of us and they opened up the place anyway.

Thanks for pushing us to go to that.  Fav.

I've been pondering what it will be like to see you again.

It's gonna be fuckin awkward, son.

You'll wear some ridiculous black shirt and a worried look.

Maybe one of us'll laugh.

Maybe I'll be Ben Affleck and you'll be Matt Damon and you just won't

be there when I am.  No goodbye.  No nothing.

I'll drive away with Casey riding in your shotty spot.

This is the weekend.

The first one of these without that bitch for a long ass time.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Yours will be coming next.  Then Halloween.

Will you be in Burbank for a minute?

Goodnight.