To Nic, in response to yourself five weeks ago,
You pretty much read perfectly into the future with that one. Maybe you should pursue witchcraft for a living. I’m sure there are still people that’d love to burn you at the stake.
You are home now and everyone is awaiting your next move. People are literally sitting at home waiting for you to decide your next hair-brained plan so they can laugh and be mildly disappointed at all that wasted potential. Lots of people are also awaiting your next movie, seeing how your last one Batman Begins, was so good. No, that wasn’t Christian Bale. The new Batman movie is him, but it is because it was just getting too commercial, I couldn’t handle it.
So here is my plan for you for the next two weeks. Take it easy. Don’t get a job. Write some things. Change some lives. Go to a wedding. And basically come up with a life plan. All in the comfort of the home I don’t have, in the cold Canadian summer.
India, how I miss thee.
Thanks for the trip, it was a beauty. You really know how to party.
With love, maybe a little too much,
Nic/yourself
To my friends,
If you want to have tea straight from India, let me know, I’ll bring some over to your place, and we’ll have a tea party. I’d invite you to my home, but I no longer have one.
If you want to read more of these letters I wrote over the past five weeks, let me know, and I’ll let you read my personal moleskine journal. I’m like Picasso.
The Picasso of words. The Pick-ass-o, with these new underwear I’ve got on.
Thanks. I’m out. Of it.
Balls of Rice 
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