Mornings were his best time, usually. Your friend, Lidewij Vliegenthart p.s.
I am bringing my boyfriend in case we have to physically restrain Peter.
I wondered why he’d written Van Houten in those last days instead of me,
telling Van Houten that he’d be redeemed if only he gave me my sequel.
Maybe the notebook pages had just repeated his request to Van Houten.
It made sense, Gus leveraging his terminality to make my dream come true:
The sequel was a tiny thing to die for, but it was the biggest thing left at his disposal.
I refreshed my email continually that night, slept for a few hours,
and then commenced to refreshing around five in the morning.
But nothing arrived. I tried to watch TV to distract myself,
but my thoughts kept drifting back to Amsterdam, imagining Lidewij Vliegenthart and her boyfriend
bicycling around town on this crazy mission to find a dead kid’s last correspondence.
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