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Bienvenido, invitado ( Identificarse | Registrarse )
I am firing you.
He mailed it the next day. And for the first time in years, his mother’s reply was not a phone call, but a postcard. On the front: a beach. On the back: “Deal. Now stop writing letters and go change your oil.” End of write-up. querido hijo estas despedido
For a full minute, he read it again and again, thinking it was a joke. Perhaps the punchline to a running gag about how he never returned the hedge trimmer. But the ink was too steady, the paper too crisp. He read on. I am firing you
I love you. But your shift is over.