I remember my friend screaming after me as I jumped off a moving bus and elegantly puked upon landing. "We will walk from here," he said. I dreamt that I was dying from thirst and when I woke up next afternoon, still wearing gloves, I found a plastic bag full of cooked llama ribs by my bedside. I had llama blood on my cheeks.
In the email, my Ma threatened to buy a ticket to Bolivia that instant if I didn't reappear on the interweb.
I was busy, Ma. I was working.