Seattle transplant, sneaker enthusiast, breaks + beats growing up with SL1200s, huge graffiti head in the 90's,
shoots the most random subjects and blogs as therapy.
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| Posted in | Posted on Friday, May 08, 2009

It took him around six weeks to decide. When he finally did, he worked on his resignation letter.

Took about five minutes to write.
Printed five copies.

Took a shower.
Knelt at his mom's altar and prayed. Yes, he's been praying again.

He headed to work.

The final short drive.

The last show of badge.

The last access.

The last elevator ride.

The last entry to the floor.

Some knew why he was there on the same day he called in sick. Maybe three of them. The others were surprised to see him.

He gave his man Shikko a dap. Didn't even look in his eyes.

Proceeded to his supervisor's desk. He told her he needed to talk to her. Privately.
He handed her the letter. She unfolded it. Read it. Couldn't believe it. Questioned it. And prolly wished she never received it.

Bad news.

The king has left the building.

And he didn't even bother to say bye to the same people he considered as family.


Maybe he didn't want to shed tears on the same floor he helped build through hard work and fun memories.

It came as a shock to most if not all.

He was loved.

He loved. The people. The workplace.

Too bad he had to make moves.

The exit was the total opposite of what people was so used to.

No hugs, no kisses, no handshakes, not even a goodbye.

He wanted people to remember the good times.

This hurts him more than anyone.

Forget the tears. Do away with the sad stories.

He will be there when most needed.

To his CPT family, he sends his love and gratitude. He wishes you all the best.

He will miss you all.

One love.

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