Senator John Hoeven, The other morning I put Bailey’s in my morning coffee and was like oh boy, there I go down the rabbit hole. It’s coming for me. But at the same time, fuck it. Am I right? I could furnish it with a pull-out couch and satellite TV, read the funny pages and text artists all the same. That’s LIBERTY— or, at least a second cousin of it. My soul’s either going to be accepted or it’s not. I have a bad cough. I worked on this letter all night, all morning, all night, all morning, but it just doesn’t feel right. You ever get that? Like a sky drawn in highlighter. The comb in my mouth. I saw a report recently that men’s beards have feces in them. On them? Or, more specifically, men’s beards house the microbes one would find if one were to search through feces. And I thought to myself, point to something that isn’t covered in feces. When my wife left me, I wish I hadn’t cried. I wish I were stronger and said something like, We tried, my love. The roads and bridges in my town look like they need a friend. Though, I’m thankful I have a town with roads and bridges. Can you be a friend, Senator Hoven? Have you ever read the Dr. Seuss book Are You My Mother? I have not.