ERIC

Every evening I sit to read letters that Eric writes to me. He is the only son I brought to earth and I couldn't control. Eric's whole life I've read from letters. Some had me in tears yet I couldn't reach him. His letters didn't have an address. His letters come from a foreign country. Eric, if my guess is right and his growth rate didn't change, is six feet tall and has so well built muscles, a well trimmed moustache and stylish hair cuts. All he ever cared for was how he looked. He had gym to gain weight, gym to reduce weight, gym when he felt sick, gym everyday. That was his life at home. His love for music and novels made him worse because he thought he existed in a different world, a novel down and his headsets start to break with the loud music he played on them. His special love for cookies could always have me predict where he was at any time. The only town with cookies of his preference was Abou Diamei. It has been seventeen visits there yet he was wasn't there. This time round it is dark for me. I only have him in letters that are written in a dowdy and drolly style. So today I collected one from the mail man. It read;