I wish you weren't dead.

So I could tell you that your suicide letter was the funniest thing I ever read.

But there you are. Gone and beyond. In heaven or hell. Or places unsaid.

I'd love to tell you that I care. But that feeling's beyond me.  Because I'm stuck here selling sandwiches to lonely truckers.

$2.99 for an egg salad on rye.

Beat that, Dead Guy.


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