I am pretty sure that you are okay wherever you are,
probably screwing up someone’s life. I don’t object that, because it’s your job
to do so.
The reason for my writing is to formally ask you out on a
date, does Friday sound good. I’m suggesting taking you to Vila Rosa Kempinsky,
is that cool? My assumption is that bitches like you love life on the fast
lane, like expensive wine against an expensive back drop, served with smiles
that is part of the job description of the waiters there and most importantly
expensive food.
I want you to eat to your fill, then slowly tell me when you’ll
check into my life and fuck me really good. I’ve since long held the belief
that everyone is your agent, unknowingly executing your mandate. With this
notion I think I overstepped it and almost took over from you. I’ve failed two
people greatly. If we ever meet think their eyes will pop out bullets or
something more fatal. But I know you know what might happen in advance. I want
you to tell me that it’s okay. That you were kinda indisposed on the day I made
those decisions that have either irrevocably changed their lives or impacted
negatively on it.
I want us to strike a deal. If I’ve done you any good please
consider my footsteps henceforth. If I haven’t, please be lenient. Dish out my
pain in doses, like medicine.
Looking forward to meeting you.
Yours sincerely
Kipchirchir Rop
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