I remember the time that we fought for freedom in the halls of the classroom and fought fire with water and smoked the place out. We were on the news, remember? And as we watched newreels of the hippies and Civil Rightsers beaten in the streets of Chicago we'd never felt more at home, do you remember that darling? The day we found the picture of your father with his silly long hair, braided in the back with the beads of the local Native American tribe and we made fun of it but also knew how right he was in what he tried to accomplish. And so we walked down Ventura Blvd and Sunset and Felt the ghost town set in and chill our blood with the suits and giant posters of P. Diddy screaming "I am KING!" at us and all we knew how to do was squeeze each other a little tighter in fearful acceptance of our corporation run intellects. You with your bag from Claire's and the other from American Eagle, both of which caught my right bloodshot eye and me squeeze your hand just a bit tighter in repressed agony, I'll admit it, darling, you scared me that day when I asked you "Why?" and you laughed and cooed "Because, Alex. Because its 2009" and my heart shot through my throat and my mind collapsed within its own fucking static confusion where it remained with NOACCESSGRANTED until you broke it off last summer. I remember that, and thats all there is to it, my love. I hate that memory and I guarantee I changed some facts but since when have you worked for the United States government anyhow?