In the morning, there was a reply waiting in the doorframe. It was neatly penciled on the back of the letter I had written. It said:

Dear Stephanie,
Thank you for the invite,
but I can’t come to tea and cereal.
I’m very busy writing a song and waiting to die.
Cordially,
Angelo

I wrote back immediately.

Angelo,
Please come out.
I have something important to ask you.
Stephanie