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    Summary

    Dear Eds, 

    I think about you all the time.

    It is so fucking stupid how often you cross my mind with strong, sun-tanned legs. But you do and so I’m typing out my feelings on the clunky old laptop that my dad gave to me — gently used — in our sophomore year of high school like he was doing me a favor. I guess he was, seeing as your mother never let you have your own computer and probably would have hovered over your shoulder the entire time you used it if she had, but I digress.

     

    Or, Richie Tozier writes a long-winded letter that Eddie Kaspbrak is never meant to read.

    Language:
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