A Note Given with $1500 of Stolen Perfume

This is a gift I give to you, that you will not fully understand, a gift of competition, of rebellion, of calculated intelligence and mastery. I give it in the same spirit in which kindness was given to me on my last birthday: that the goodness of you should not be without it. I hope that it but gives you pause to find and hold joy at this confederation of friends about us that I can only call family; to which you have been the brightest image and most sustaining agent. Know that we all think, hope, and love of you in effort to a little longer keep the effervescent glow your smiling face brings to any gathering. I have but lost the humanity and mortality in me, and I try to follow the lantern of your emotion, foolish and bright in this darkness of poverty and gray colored fists and teeth. You are bright marker indeed: young, beautiful, vibrant, willful and wise, all the things which make a human of quality you have in plenty. I tell you all this for reason singular: that despite this attritious life of struggle you have more than enough mother f#@kin fight in you for any it will bring. I give it to you now because it is not about the date, but only about the excuse to appreciate you that all celebrate your birthday. I need no excuse, and my patience wanes for a demonstration of that affection, constant, which wells up inside even my stoic heart. Happy birthday, better yet happy this day and happy the next on and on until life lays you low or damnably steals you away from us...