For the love of Brutus
Lucius eased himself carefully onto his well-used and tattered sofa. In his left hand, he held a certified letter from his favorite Aunt Squeakie who had transcended from this earth to her next universal journey a little over 2 weeks ago at the precious age of 92. In his right hand, he held a classic black leather moleskin notebook. Lucius had always known Aunt Squeakie to be a futurist, a lover of all things sentient, and someone to tell you what was on her mind. Her letter was concise: