To the man who spit in my face and stole my iPhone at El Mercado 16 de Julio

I can’t blame you. There’s nothing quite like holding against one’s face something so intimate, what’s lived in another man’s pants for months on end, nestled against the crotch. What can I say? I get it. I'm there with you, bud. Literally.

I didn’t even notice the hand of your accomplice entering my left pocket (sly one!), so mesmerized I was by the watery aroma of your spittle, which came from nowhere! In what I imagine was a single sleight-of-hand, he got the iPhone 4S, a short to-do list (I'm such a busybody!), and a handful of Cusco Running Club cards. I hope curiosity got the best of you and that the cards led you to this brief note. I'd like to stay in touch. Hit me up on Facebook or Twitter! Cassie and I would love your perspective on regional climate change. 

Most people pooh-pooh outdated Apple products, but I can tell you’re a true connoisseur of the classic. My favorite feature’s the camera. Check out some of the panoramics I took up at Chacaltaya yesterday!

All that from a 2011 iPhone! I know, right!?!! I bet you could get some sweeping shots of La Paz from the cliffs of El Alto, or maybe do a sweet selfie with the gang! You have to savor these moments of fortune and camaraderie. Nobody lives forever.

On that note, I would ask of you one small favor. Would mind giving my dad a call? His number's in the address book. We haven’t talked in months. Last time I saw him, he was in the hospital recovering from brain surgery to cure a case of Tic douloureux. They call it the “suicide disease”—the most severe pain imaginable. Worse than having your hands lopped off or being burned alive. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Anyway, I owe him a call. Please tell him I love him.