I know the craters are terribly exciting, and the teleporter, and the language classes. But things have happened here too. Many, many, many things have happened here since you left.
We have a new metro train. It’s really modern with big windows and steel grey seats. It’s a really quiet train. I imagine that Elon Musk might nod approvingly at how quiet and modern it is. It would remind you of a spaceship.
And I’ve started working for the radio. I talk about books and I make quizzes and I interview politicians. I ask them almost nothing about politics, but a lot about what kind of art they like. This one guy (Elon Musk would nod approvingly at him because he dresses well and seems to have no problem overthrowing foreign governments to get their lithium) said he likes Andy Warhol. Has Marilyn in the living room, has Campbell Soups in the kitchen. He looked at me funny when I showed him my Valerie Solanas tattoo. I imagine that you would’ve smiled and said “he’s a bit of a square, isn’t he?”
Sometimes I wish that the radio frequencies would reach you up there. Like a little surprise, when you’re out walking with your walkie talkie, on your way to a party, kicking around moon dust, feeling happy like you always say you are—like a little surprise, my voice would crackle out from the frequency into intelligible words.
I could tell you—in our secret code, if I knew you were listening—
that I had too much gin last night,
that I’ve been keeping really good track of my money,
that a Portuguese guy likes me and I finally know why there are so many words for beauty,
that I have frown lines between my eyebrows,
that I’ve finally aged, become a little more realistic,
tell you—that if you were to come back,
you could hold my hand in public.
