Dear Brendan,

I haven't written you in a while, but you're dead, so that's kind of on you.

How’s it going, mate? Sorry I haven’t kept in touch, but in my defense I still haven’t figured out how to speak to spirits so I’m writing you here just in case. I can’t believe you’ve been gone for almost five years. You died during peak COVID, which I think was a somewhat ironic twist in the end of your story. The world shut down and suffered, just as your suffering finally ended. You’ve never been one for subtlety, and I think you’d look at it all with a rye smile.

The world keeps going to shit politically speaking, which actually makes me envy how you mastered tuning out from it all in the drunken gringo hills of old-world Guatemala. Trump got elected again. Same nonsense as before but scaled up, a bit more fascisty, and a bit scarier. His sycophants have married themselves to the cult so much it’s pointless to discuss them or him with any sort of cognitive reason or sympathy, so I’ll just leave it there. Plus, I’m in Mexico City, and the rain is driving me into a somewhat loopy haze too relaxing to bother suffering through American political updates.

I often wonder how are the cats and the crazy French woman? Can’t remember if she was still in the picture when you passed. I never liked Antigua, and hated how it brought out the worst of your demons, easily lost in a sea of tuned-out belligerence and alcoholism. Many of the enablers who mourned your death played a roll in feeding your monsters selfishly, and I haven’t forgiven that yet, but I will someday. Speaking of which, I’m sober now.

It’s been a pretty fucking wild ride, the last few years, and I decided to finally get my shit together and fix years of self-damage and pain. I’m not sure seeing me go through the process of fixing myself would have been enough to inspire you, but watching a dozen or so friends of mine die (including you) was a huge inspiration for me to make a change. Turns out you were right about suffering fools gladly, but that’s changed dramatically in the past six months.

I had a bit of a breakdown in 2024, and I thought a lot about you during that entire time. I miss you a lot m8. I got lost in my own self-doubt for a bit and I miss your conversations of boldfaced, unabashed encouragement. You helped me process the gut punch of losing my (and your favorite) cat Cairo with your words and calls. I don’t think I ever told you how much that meant to me, but it did.

You kept me sane when Cinthia was breaking down into abuse, threatening to kill herself with shards of broken glass if I left the house. You reminded me I was a good man for not swinging back when she punched me in the face. You would have been such an asset of support over the last year or so as I struggled through more unstable people using me, more self-inflicted chaos, more emotional madness. I’m almost there, mate. Still got a lot of shit to work out, and a lot of insecurities when it comes to being kind to people, and kind to myself. But I’m almost there.

Mexico City has been eye-opening in the best kind of way, even if at times it’s strained me emotionally. I’ve never traveled this long in this way sober. I tried to find the Tacos Gus place you raved about when you were here, but I think it’s closed. I’ve been walking a lot, just taking it all in, and feeling alive and following my passion again. Man, travel has changed since we were in the thick of it over a decade ago. Things have become more globalized due to social media. And yes, I will admit, that has affected how I travel too. But the core of the raw joy, the innate stress, the fatigue, languages, noises, food and smells are all still there. All except the booze for me.

Oh, and for the first time since that Venezuelan made it an awkward Christmas in Spain 7 years ago, I traveled with friends this time. You would have loved both of them for different reasons. Also, I take back my 2017 pledge to never travel with you again after you nearly got us kicked off the Spanish ship that looked like an 80s Holiday Inn. I still think I should have left you off the coast of Africa at that patio bar, but what would have been the fun in that? It’s been great to be around friends and actually share travel adventures with them, even if those adventures are subtle and serene.

I can’t wait to get back to Miami to see my cats and my friends. I’d like to believe that even though you said you hated the place without visiting there because you “hate sand and humidity” you would have come to visit by now. The cats are getting older and crankier, but they seem to love their beach life there just as they did in Panama. I even have two couches in my studio, so you could crash on one until I force you onto the balcony due to your snoring.

Anyway, I wanted to just touch base and let you know I’m doing OK. I’m doing more than OK, actually, and the ebbs and flows of life are appreciated because I know how fleeting life is, and how quickly death can come. I added some snippets from our last convo a few weeks before you died. I write about you each year on your birthday and your death day. This year I decided to do the death day early. I felt like reaching out to you today to talk about my trip, and the house in San Miguel with a rooftop fireplace, and the tacos, and the travel fatigue, and maybe even a bit of loneliness.

If you have any superpowers as a dead guy, can you please stop the rain for day, mate? Also, have a list of people, places, and sports teams for you to curse, so contact me in a dream or whatever and we’ll go over that privately. Dillon and I talk from time to time, Mary reads all my stuff, and I even made it to Wisconsin last year. You’re missed tremendously, Brendan. I hope in some odd, fucked-up afterlife, you are rewarded for the impact you made on all of us.

Speak to you soon,

Andy.