You stole a check from my mailbox, washed it, filled it out for $2K, and signed your full name before you unsuccessfully tried to cash it. It took me seconds to find you online. I learned about your girlfriend, your family history, and your brother's suicide. In a fit of rage, I opened a social-media account in your brother's name and stalked you. My intention was to fuck with you and your sense of safety, just as you'd done to me. When you sent me a message asking, "Is it really you?" thinking I was your brother contacting you from the afterlife, I recoiled in horror. And shrunk with guilt. You were so fucked up. I couldn't bear to follow through with my sick plan to torment you. So instead I sent you notes of encouragement, hoping to convince you to change your ways. I saw you struggle with drug addiction, scumbag friends, and bad decisions... and I was rooting for you, hoping you'd find your way in life—and you did. Congrats on staying out of prison, getting clean, and starting a family. I haven't checked in on you for some time, but I hope you're doing well.


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