My dearest Brian, A guy like me looks in the mirror, he either grins, or he starts to fade away. And I haven't seen anything to grin about in a long time. This may not be the most graceful exit, but I know when the bottle's empty. The only thing I'm really going to miss is the conversations we had. At least I get the last word, even if I had to mail it in. Coughlin's Law: Bury the dead. They stink up the joint. As for the rest of Coughlin's Laws, ignore them. The guy was always full of shit.
