Just for you Mary. :)

The rain pitter-patts against the pane and sill. "Sealing the pain," I think, just for fun. But the words begin to fall and roll and drip into muddled puddles. "King Kong's dong," you joked. Instead I heard "King John's gone," and wondered about the strangeness of letters.

Is it true that you didn't know about the KKK? The KGB? The KLP? I couldn't believe you so I looked in your eye for a twinkle and found dull complaisance. Dull complaisance that I didn't understand. Not even a spark of curiosity. You left it alone and I only told you that you that they had pointy hats.

They complimented my handwriting again. Hordes of them it seemed. "All the letters are neat and even," they remarked. I looked down at my jumble and saw crookedness, deformity, and greed. Not one letter was like another. Each in its place out of place. Stein reworked her words. I hear her handwriting is large. Five words in a line. And that's true. It's not idiosyncratic; she wanted to take a closer look.