Tonight I found empathy for your depression. I was driving home from the bar to your apartment, referred to here as home because it’s just you reading this, and empathy without intimacy is just sympathy. I ran into K and C at the bar and they mentioned how long it’s been since they saw you. “She’s at home,” I said, “had a rough day, tired,” but really that’s just what we say, because you and I both know what tired really means. I already knew you’d say no but I called anyway because they wanted to see you, too long since they saw you last and it’s not just me who want you to come out and have a good time but K and C, and others too, I’m sure.