Dear Skut Farkus,
I see a lot of crazy things on the late-night Red Line, but running into you was an absolute shock. I always just figured you went into hiding with your crony Grover Dill after Ralphie told you what was up and beat the living snot (and blood) out of you after you chucked that snowball at him, sending him over the edge.
Imagine my surprise to find you located in my same train car on an idle Thursday night. And drinking a Budweiser when alcohol is expressly prohibited aboard CTA vehicles, nonetheless. I never thought that you would be someone I would want to get to know after the way you dogged my boy Ralphie, but I am intrigued in learning more about your covert consumption methods, making the already-entertaining red line that much more interesting. Let's talk. After all, I suppose I can drop my lifelong grudge because Ralphie did get his revenge in the end.