To Raffi and Bruno (first letter)

Hi Guys.
I bet you’re both working on a contract as I type. How long has it been like this? You’ve got fifteen years on me easy. The monotony seems an enemy but I don’t think you’d ever say so. I could see it in Bruno’s eyes when he’d look down at his feet. Raffi gave it away when something would go wrong and he’d mutter under his breath. All the white reminded me of mental institutions. It was just funny enough to not be overwhelming — easy for me to say now that I’m gone.
Right now you could be spraying. You’re sanding corner trim with hand sponges. You’re spot-checking with hot light bulbs and taping plastic over marble counter tops. Someone very wealthy is making crude jokes in an attempt to relate to you. The view is most likely fantastic. It probably surveys the rest of us.
Does Bruno still dance around like a circus monkey, pointing at areas you miss as you’re spraying the ceiling? Why does that machine sound like something from a 50’s Sci-Fi b-movie? Does Raffi still answer your cell calls with “Hey! Fuck-Face!”? Where does your loyalty to each other come from? Is Raffi here illegally? Do you ever consider the possibility that there will never be a final finish that’s good enough? Is there ever a last filling that is complete?
I never did get to see Bruno’s wildlife photography or Raffi salsa dance.
I miss you both and I’m sorry I couldn’t stay on.
I know you understand.