The Desk.

Another in the favorite style, but in personal address.

Friend, I talk a lot of crap on the desk and aloud about almost everybody I know, sometimes in legitimate criticism, more often in jest, but I don't recall myself or anyone else having anything but praise for you. So I see no reason for you to allow the ensuing act that has been proposed. If you value my humble opinion, which you surely don't, you can't let them do this to you. You're above it. Am I the only one who sees that? As a man of discerning taste, I'd like to think that I'm not the only one who sees what I do when I look at you. You said something last night that I never want to hear from you again. Because it's not true. You are worth every fair thought and more. I want you to see how much you bring to this house, and the last thing I want is to take that away. But that's what they're trying to do to you, every one of them. I want you to see that I've never forced you into anything you didn't openly agree to, and that it's because you have a sense of propriety that I respect. You have a power and a presence that is impossible to ignore, but more than that you have something few people here possess: class. Now I want you to own it. You've got the beauty and the strength of character to make this yours if you rise to it. You don't need them and you don't need their help, in fact I think they would destroy you. So I want you to take a good look, and if you can't tell me why you're above and beyond their pettiness, then I'll tell you. And I'll do it until you admit that I'm right. And if your roommate didn't scare the hell out of me I might be through there more often, but you know my door is always open if you feel like hearing the truth.