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The Email

From: Nick Lobell

To: Owen Zuikas; Lauren Banks; Hamish Moore; Matty Shiffman

Subject: You are cordially invited to my funeral

So, I’m dying from pancreatic cancer! It’s not too bad yet, but they say it’s going to get real bad, real fast, and that this fucker is going to kill me quick as shit. As such, I’d like to see you jerks one more time before I waltz my way off this mortal coil. So consider this a formal invitation to my funeral, or pre-funeral, or still-making-memories-memorial-service, or whatever. I’d rather give you a chance to pretend I’m a good guy and you still like me while we’re all still alive than when the cremation furnace turns me to human kitty litter. It’ll be fun! I’m up in New Hampshire now. I bought you all plane tickets, which I attached as PDFs. Nonrefundable, in case you need that additional dose of guilt. It’s a long drive from Logan, so I’ll get a driver for you. I hope I get to see you all one last time. If not, I understand. Actually, fuck that—if I’m dying, I might as well go out honest: If you don’t come, fuck you. In fact?

I’m invoking the Covenant.

Be here or get fucked. Love you lots.

P.S. Hey, Nailbiter, I know you’re not going to want to get on a plane, but you gotta get on that plane, I don’t care if you chew your fingers to stumps.

P.P.S. Lauren, I’m not calling you “Lore,” and you can’t make me.

P.P.P.S. Hamish, you dick, bring weed. NH hasn’t legalized yet.

P.P.P.P.S Matty, miss you, brother.

—nick