[Time was a funny thing, and Richie was every bit the victim that Eddie was. As it passed, his own interest waned and it pushed him right back into the closet and stole any and all recollection of happiness from him in its vice grip. He'd barely noticed the drift from Eddie, it washed away like chalk on a sidewalk and what traces were left had no stay power. Nothing concrete to keep them there, every now and then his mind would travel to sunny fields and red shorts but those things were day dreams. The fodder of an overactive imagination and not writing his own stuff anymore. That's what the pay per hour therapist he up and ditched had said.
When Richie received the email, at first he thought it was a joke. It filtered into his personal account and his PR manager had flagged it as spam but the curt and short-tempered way this guy typed seemed less like a scam and more like something genuine so several days later he takes the time to reply.]
Okay E.
You could have just told me you were a Nigerian prince and I won the lottery. It's a lot more believable.
no subject
When Richie received the email, at first he thought it was a joke. It filtered into his personal account and his PR manager had flagged it as spam but the curt and short-tempered way this guy typed seemed less like a scam and more like something genuine so several days later he takes the time to reply.]
Okay E.
You could have just told me you were a Nigerian prince and I won the lottery. It's a lot more believable.
Sent from Richie's iPhone