If you’re reading this, then you’ve somehow found your way into my sandbox! How crazy!

Pull up a chair! Enjoy yourself! What little content I’m actually working on is available for your perusal!



I’ve sat staring at this piece of paper for hours trying to think of what to say. What to write to make everything right. I don’t know if the words exist. Or maybe I’m just bad with words. Hell if I know. But I figured I could at least try - one last time. The matter of the fact is that I have cancer. And I don’t have much time left. Not enough time to come back. Imagine that.

It's funny, in a way, me writing this letter. Just one old man trying not to cry in a Dunkin' Donuts left in the middle of nowhere at five in the morning. If that doesn't show what it's like to be a trucker then I don't know what does. It's a lonely life. But I got you, out halfway across the country. And don't believe I never forgot that.

I know I haven’t been the best father to you. I haven't been there for you. I chose a life that stuck me in a truck and drove me away from the people in my life, and once it became time to settle down, I couldn't stop. Maybe I could have. But I didn't. I don't know if you'll ever be able to understand how much I regret that. You may never understand how much it's hurt, not knowing you. Not being with you.

I've lived on. Sad, shamed, solitary, I've rode ever forward. Me and Charlie. That's the truck. It might be ridiculous to you, but when it's just you and the truck, you gotta do something to feel less lonely. A truck’s a good friend. But it’s no child. It’s not you.

You are so important to me. I want you to never forget that. Of course, my wants don't mean to much to someone I've already robbed so much from. But if you could humor this old bastard one last time then maybe I can rest easy.

It’s about my truck. I mean, it’s not like I have anything else. I am giving you everything. And this isn’t just a truck. It’s more than just that.