Here is the email I wrote a close friend who turns 40 tomorrow. Shane and I deployed to Iraq together in March 2003 and slept in cots a few inches apart for 5 months in a tent with no air conditioning, showers, or running water. Embellished yarns, smuggled alcohol, and illicit affairs were the only entertainment. His kidney stones and the extra percocet he received were how we got through the last several weeks. I probably shouldn’t have disclosed that. With that backfill in mind, here it is…
I wish I could drive four hours to buy you the six pack of wine coolers you’re so desperately craving today, so that you don’t have to finance such habits by sucking dick. However, I have to go to court tomorrow, because a yokel from the north Georgia mountains decided to get into a 3-point stance and charge into a parked pickup truck, and then sue the driver. I’m defending the driver.
I hope you’re not feeling down about your birthday. I know that lost youth can sometimes be hard. But know this: if marital obligations, military prohibitions, and moral convictions didn’t prohibit my doing otherwise, I would show you just the filthy affection you deserve tomorrow. You’re a handsome man. The pictures I have from Puerto Rico of you in your Speedo are nothing if they aren’t confirmation. You’re aging like a French red wine or an oiled baseball glove. Only you don’t smell as good.
I’m sorry you didn’t get to run with the bulls in Pamplona a few weeks ago, as you’d planned. I will be in town this weekend, though, and I will be glad to strap some horns to my head and chase you around your neighborhood. I figure it’s the least I can do.