He's been giving me the crazy eyes.

Dearest P.,

I apologize for the untidiness of my handwriting, but I compose this epistle in a state of fear, fear for my very life! No, it is not B. who I am afraid of as I was in the past. This time, it is my very good friend and comrade L. who appears desirous of my destruction. 

I know you will not believe me, but allow me to elucidate: he has made no direct threats, physical or vocal. No, he communicates his meaning with his eyes. There is a hate in them that I has heretofore unseen - a deep, seething hate. 

Perhaps this is my own fault. He has, as they say, lived in my shadow for quite some time. While other friends like Y. and D.K. have gone on become famous on their own, L. has never been afforded the spotlight. But can I be held responsible for that? Perhaps he should cast his eyes on himself before he places blame solely on me.

I fear this kind of reasoning will not help, though. No, the hate in his eyes is too strong. So, if I do not return from my next race, know that I love you. And also, if I start glowing and knock you off the road, know that it was not meant out of spite.

Forever yours,
M.

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