Ryan,

First off, it was excellent to finally hear from you. I guess after hanging around with you for twenty some-odd years, and living with you for a large chunk of that, I should be used to the fact that, if you're going to up and move, you're not going to give anyone much warning. Y'know, a note would have been nice, anyway. Just to let someone know you were still breathing. I mean, one day my brother's downtown, working at the record store as always, and the next? The next day I get a phone call from a very perturbed employer of yours saying, and I quote, "That punk kid didn't show up again! What does he think this is? Some kind of job where he can just show up whenever he damn well pleases? Ha!" Oh, by the way, you got fired. But since the return address on your letter was an address in freakin' Seattle, I guess that doesn't matter.
Second, the 8-ball keychain. Yeah, the real heavy one that you smacked that guy with after we left Downstairs at Eric's a couple of months ago? Well, what do you mean give you back your keychain? Your 8-ball keychain!? Oh no no no, princess. No. That keychain is mine! How dare you accuse me of stealing my own stuff! I mean, when you popped that guy right in the face (you're a drunken goon, let me just say that right now, get that out in the open), you had my keys! Okay, yeah, the guy deserved it. I mean, you just don't chant "Let's go Red Wings!" in a sports bar anywhere in the Breckenridge area, but you knocked out three of his four bottom teeth. With a tiny keychain. With my tiny keychain, you damn goon!
I know you don't remember, so let me refresh your memory: Warped Tour, Randall's Island, summer 2000. We were just browsing over all of the random stuff they had, when you stumbled upon this...keychain. I thought it was just a stupid little keychain, but you thought it was sooooo cool, that you borrowed -- and I emphasize borrowed -- five bucks to snag it. You never paid me back, Ryan, you never paid me back!! So, I took the keychain. I mean, my keys have been on the damn thing for close to forever. Not to mention that every night when I came home I'd throw my keys on the coffee table, usually right next to where your feet were. So you had more than enough time to just switch my keys to something else and take the 8-ball from me.
I guess I can see why you think that I stole it from you. But dammit, I've had the thing for, like, a year. You had plenty of freaking time to ask for it back, or pay me back for that matter. But NO! You had to wait until you moved to Seattle -- half way across the country -- to accuse me of stealing it!
Speaking of. That Avalanche sweatshirt you borrowed just better be in the laundry, and NOT in Seattle or so help me...

Your loving brother,
Micah