Letter to my Brother

Hello old boy.
I wish I was good and drunk like you.
I wish I was good and drunk with you.
How much time needs to pass to get what we want? Every time we talk I say the same goddamn thing.
“I’ll be there soon”.
Then bury my nose in some Accounting Standards pretending it’s a bag.
I remember the first time we drank a beer together, we were shirtless shoulder to shoulder and at a party of 5,000 people it was just us.
I was good and drunk with you then.
I wish I could blink past time, to the jazz alleys of New York with nips in our underpants. Smoking cigarettes beneath the dark-skinned man riding the sax on the fire escape.
That is more important than impairment of goodwill, I know that.
But Christ I’m so goddamn close.
How old will we be when I’m done? I hope we’ll never get old.
Or if we do
I hope we get old together.

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