Dear Irv--
It's me, your father, Lonnie Rorg. You think you can avoid me by refusing to see me when I come to visit you in jail?
You think it's that easy? You need my help now, son. Prison is not where you want to end up. Believe me. My own mother, your grandmother, was a corrections officer back in the 30s. You know that. The things she saw. The forced marriages that took place there. Maybe that's what you want, but those kind of marriages never last, no matter how many tattoos the bride gets.
Look, I'm coming back again Monday. It hurt that you refused to see me today. I'm an old man, why do you treat me this way? I'm sleeping in the red Prius again tonight. The humidity gets bad with the windows rolled up, but rain is on its way tonight according to the weather report. I couldn't bend fully over before I started sleeping in my car. Now with all the stiffness, I won't be able to use my hip rotator cup or turn my head, but I don't care.
I'm going to see you, son. A son needs his father.
Lonnie Rorg
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