Sonathan

SONATHAN COMPOSES A LETTER, AS ONE DOES.

SONATHAN: Father…

RECONSIDERS THIS, BUT IT’S FINE. IT’S FINE.

It’s been nearly fifteen years since you left. Last month, I investigated the refrigerator myself. There was milk to spare. I’m starting to suspect you didn’t go to the store.

A DEPRESSINGLY PATHETIC, YET PATHETICALLY DEPRESSING BEAT.

Repressfully yours… Sonathan.