When you were in the hospital recovering from your car wreck, I skipped going to see the Dalai Llama and gave you the bracelet he blessed. I thought it might give you luck. Now I know, with all the luck in the world, you'd still be a disgusting slut.
I stood by your side for over a year as you plowed through unwashed dick after unwashed dick. Drug addicts? Check. Convicts? Check. Homeless guy? Check. Sex offender? CHECK. The only good boy you had you slept around on with three filthy guys in one week. Thank god he doesn't have to put up with your shit anymore.
I supported you financially when you were down on your luck. I even tried to get you help for your substance abuse. You apparently must think you deserve to live with the rest of Seattle's scum because you keep repeating the same mistakes. I'm sick of it. I'm don't want to have anything to do with you anymore. A month from now, I will find you living underneath a bridge, or couch surfing with the friends who haven't figured out how big of a using whore you are, and I will not know whether to pity you or laugh.
I want my fucking bracelet back.