The handwriting is still fairly pretty and quite nice by most standards… but is probably abhorrent by both Ilan and Atherton’s usual standards. The verdict is clear. This was a drunk letter that thankfully found the wastebin.

Atherton,

     I lied to you, you know. See, I would usually be alright with that because, whilst we are good friends (I think, yeah?), I’d lie to you about some things. Just me keeping it real. (That is a saying that I heard in a bar once. It means I am being honest with you even at the expense of your feelings.)

     But I do not want to lie to you, Atherton, so I think I should be truthful. Entirely. It is the only way our friendship shall progress to a level where awkward hugs are allowed. See, I am fine without them. I’d rather not hug at all if it is to be awkward, but you need awkward hugs before you can progress to hugs that are not awkward. It’s like basically mathematics and science and stuff.

     So, anyway. I lied on the beach with you and Madeleine and Lenneth. When we went to Costa del Sol. I said that your… your nude state was sufficient or adequate or something. And, you see, that was intentional playing down. Or something. Because, Atherton, let me tell you.

     It was really quite spectacular. Even if it was an awkward accident that I stumbled upon you naked in Lenneth’s room. That is on myself and Madeleine. We should have knocked, but, just so you know, they are both quite right. Spectacular. Impressive even. What am I even writing?