As the fledgling sparrow must one day leave his nest to soar unencumbered into the azure blue depths, so must I now take my leave from the motley dwelling of old branches, bits of scavenged plastic bag and regurgitated worm that is **********. Yes, tomorrow is my last day. Soon you'll have a strange face on the 3rd floor to shout at indiscriminately when the photocopier chews up your marketing reports.
So why not treasure me while you still can? Come on down for a few sherbets tomorrow evening at *********** from about 6pm. Even if you don't really care or even know who I am, you might as well tag along for R*****'s stories about his amoral brother-in-law or an entertaining stream-of-consciousness torrent of Tourette's-style invective from the young J*** B******. There will be something for everyone.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Yesterday we looked at a leaving email of impressive depressiveness. Today, here's another favourite I received some time back. It nearly collapses under the weight of florid writing, but is saved by its natty combination of nonchalance and brevity...