The Pacers’ season has come to a blissful end. While I wish that both myself and my team had experienced more success in the playoffs, I have quickly moved past the sadness. You do not need to worry about my mental state after we were swept by the Celtics. I am of perfectly sound mind – never before have I thought my thoughts which such exceptional clarity.
There is no time to waste, Father. I have already booked a flight to Croatia.
I know that you must already be preparing to shout out to mama that her little Bobo is coming home for a visit, but do not bother with that. The intent of this visit isn’t to reconnect with my family who have gone so long without seeing me. It isn’t even to experience physical closeness with my lovely Lucija, whose beautiful face is just a memory to me. No, I am returning to Croatia with a very specific goal in mind: to reverse the gypsy curse of baldness that afflicts me.
By the time you receive this letter, I will have already stepped off the plane and hailed a taxi to take me to the remote gypsy encampments. With luck, I may have even convinced one of their elders to cure my baldness. With me I will have brought not only large amounts of cash in many different currencies, but also priceless heirlooms and trinkets which I believe to be gypsy in origin. It is my hope that with these payments, I can undo the foolish bet which my great-great-great-great-great grandfather placed on one of those rigged Roma games. That drunk bastard has cursed our entire family line with his idiocy, but I am confident that his past wrongs can be made right.
When you see me next, Father, you will scarcely recognize me, as my hair will be full and luxurious like that of a model’s.
Your loving son,