Shawna,
You may or may not know me. I know you. I live in the body of someone who you know and therefore you might recognize a piece of me at some moment. My name is Amanda Emory. I am just one of many living in this shared vessel.
Around three weeks ago (although it seems like an entire lifetime) you received a letter in the mail from Alejandra Whitebird-González briefly mentioning the mysterious escape (or maybe just disappearance) of a prisoner. While interesting, and simultaneously symbolic and literal, it is not permanent.
We are all prisoners to this 21st century, to geography, to precipitation, to freedom. The wet mattress suffocation crush gets us all. Drink nectar and pretend!
The purpose of this letter may not be apparent. It will dawn on you if it hasn´t yet, perhaps on a rainy day complemented by some coffee and a deep smile. A little fox knocked on my door in a dream. I can´t tell you why, but I let him in. He told me in a whisper that you will soon be on a trip. He and I shared a cigarette and then we both woke up. Enjoy it!
Amanda Emory
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