Re: Monday 2pm

He knows. Locked me in upstairs, even locked the windows. I'm stealing wifi from next door. He doesn't know about the old laptop. I didn't either - found it under the bed when I flipped it over. Took me a fucking hour just to get Hotmail up. Can't find the charger and it's running out.

I can hardly breathe. He's down in the yard now shooting his cans. What I'd do with a gun if I had one. If I stare hard enough I might be able to bend the bullets back so they plug his fat guts.

I've tried picking the lock. I can't do it the stealthy way. It's either smashing the window open or ramming the door. Think I'll go for the window - it's cheap and the dictionary should do it. Think of all those words flying out of the window, ha! Let's hope I don't bust my ankle.

So what we'll do is this. You'll meet me at the old fence at 5, pick me up, and we'll do it. I can feel it now. Wind rushing in, sun going down, beer down our necks. You come, and I'll be there. I promise. We'll hit the road, get out of this hellhole.

Remember to bring: your meds, some matches, the map, the beer.

I'm counting on you. Be there.

Love,

Paul