For the past three years I’ve been borrowing bones from my neighbors, a rib here, a femur there and I reckon I’m blessed to not live by inquisitive neighbors. They mind theirs and I mind theirs as well but mostly my own. And I carry their borrowed bones in the trunk of my fathers old van so they rattle when I come to a quick stop and on mornings with a frost I can hear them whistle as they thaw. I haven’t a use for them, I just like to know they’re there. So if I’ve ever borrowed a bone, don’t worry it’s in safe hands or arms or sheets or wherever i’ve hid them. I’ll return them one day, but if you don’t mind I’d like to borrow your bones for just a little bit longer.

Sincerely,
F.