Miles Duchamp
43-A Pettybone Way
Essex, England

Dearest Miles:

How are you, my dear? I hope you are enjoying the silk scarves I brought from Thailand. In fact, I fully expect that you are wearing them right now, even as we speak, sashaying around, cigarette dangling from your chicken lips, hair slicked back, chest shaven... my, but you are a dandy plum!

I must congratulate you (imagine me holding those soft hands, right now) on the absolutely tasteful parties you hold. Your Albert Camus Decapitation Day ball was a definite must-do, a glad- I've- done- it sort of affair. Beautiful, splendid time, you know. I had no idea that you knew (or had the wherewithal) to invite so many tasty boys and girls. It was a quite a sight, waltzing into your foyer-- utterly late, I apologize-- and beholding the pouty faces and shiny hair laid out on your velvet couches and drinking from your martini glasses.

I can't help but think that the music helped set the tone. You have absolutely fabulous taste in dignified party music. I had asked you what it was and you said it was something called "The Wisdom of Harry" (with a devilish smirk on your face-- shame, shame!). It was perfect-- it receded into the background, but had enough of an effect to bring on some fabulous poses.

Where do you get such strange music, Miles? You know me, I am an old queen who sticks to his disco records... but I do like this new trip-hop stuff. Although this band was a bit lower rent than that big-budget stuff you used to try to push on me. Subtle, clever beats, imminently tasteful snippets of organs, neato little sound loops, touches of vinyl static... very minimal, but oddly decadent, my dear. All very understated and proper. Never so obtrusive as to offend the sultry hordes... unlike that Tori Amos thing you used to play for us.

I didn't like it when there was singing, though. Sounded a bit too pimply for me, if you know what I mean. All monotones and drabness and mlah, mlah, mlah for me. A bit like those Pet Shop Boys without the range, you know... You are laughing at me now, Miles, I can tell! What an old bugger he is, he laughs... You must give me credit for caring. You don't see many men as handsome as me (or as old!) who dare to inquire about what the kiddies are listening to these days. I'm sure I'm the only one at the party who noticed... Am I right!

Well, I suppose that does it for me. Thanks again for the wonderful party and I hope to be seeing your wonderful behind very soon.

Love,
Martin Yorkshire
(The Terrier)

-Samir Khan