Negative edition because I feel like shit:
Dear #5 Fulton,
I really thought we had a thing going. You're downhill and cross a shorter distance in the morning. I'd often get to even sit DOWN within you on the am ride. Suddenly, you're all full of humanity, multiple forms of you pass me by filled to the gills causing me to be late for work. What happened? You're acting like a slut of a bus.
Dear convenience store by my work,
You have to be fucking kidding me. Three dollars and fifty cents for an Odwalla? That's double what I pay at the bodega. Besides, how come when I only had $3 was that suddenly an acceptable price? I should have pretended to only have 2.
Dear my lungs,
Not now. God damn you. It's nice out. You're not getting any more cigarettes. STATED.
Dear Washington Mutual Bank,
Suck a dick. Holding my checks for seven days will result in a bad financial relationship.
Dear RFIs, BCRs, Submittals, Transmittals, Proposals, PDFs, Logs, Files and giant printers:
I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you that you collectively ruined my day.