Aghast I stand, trembling with envelope in hand at the horror that
graces mine eyes! A letter opened before me leaks sweet melancholy into
my soul; it is inerrant, polite, humble, the best I've had in ages and such a
cause for strife. For why ought this bill from Visa be the most agreeable
and formal correspondence I receive? I am sick at it's perfection.
How often I have received emails from dear friends and loved ones that do
not contain but a fragment of the courteousness of my credit statement?
Why should an automated computer afford me the respect of "Dear
Sir" whilst my own colleagues begin our academic exchanges with "Hey"? Why is the Visa credit team "Sincerely at Your Service" whilst
my own University signs off with no more than "Regards"? Oh how
precious little their regards mean to me now! I am aweary with dispair.
How torturous it will be to watch the slow deterioration and death of
custom! How I wish it were already done, that this envelope in my hand were
the funeral pamphlet of chivalry rather than a cruel reminder of what is still
dying before me. Writhing and withering, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket.
I am sick of death, but I open the message anyway.
Please consider me evermore,
Your most obedient and humble servant,
Dorian Gray, Esq.
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