Adam, oh Adam. Where fore art thou, Adam?

You were the quintessential employee: earthy but not dirty, hairy but not swarthy, friendly but not arrogant. I envy you because I am only dirty, swarthy and arrogant.

How I miss watching your British friend whisper sweet nothings to you, trying to claim your innonence for his own satisfaction. You know I write, don't you? Upon your return, I would love for you to read my original screenplay, a take on the English Patient for the new Millennia. You, him and scores of your new Malawian friends in an epic tale of charity, gender confusion, and innocence lost. It might well lead to my directorial debut and the fame and acclaim that I so cleary deserve, mostly because I say so.

Alas, though, your return is all to far away and I have credit to steal, people to whom I must condescend and minorities to offend while blustering about how hard I work on their behalf.

But I digress, young friend. I came here to wish you a happy birthday and do so I will. Enjoy.

Dom the Omnipotent