I know I’m going on. And I know you must be wondering when the hell I’m going to get to the point—to the reason I’m here, in this prison cell, and the reason I shouldn’t be. And I promise you, it’s coming. But I can’t—I can’t seem to explain the situation quickly. That was the problem with Mr. Gates. He never let me explain properly—to show how it all built up, all the little things, all the sleepless nights and the loneliness and the isolation, and the craziness of the house and the cameras and everything else. To explain properly, I have to tell you how it happened. Day by day. Night by
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I really feel like the letter thing is so out of place at this point. I like the idea, but this execution is lacking. I could see something more like an Interview With a Vampire working here. But no one would write (let alone send) a letter the size of a book; unless they were writing it to someone farther in the future.
