"This letter was sent to me by my best friend Adam in June 1994 while he was travelling through New Zealand: his last stop on a round the world trip before coming home.
But he never came home. He was killed by a drunk driver just a week after he wrote it. He was 25.
I received the letter, the only one he ever sent me, shortly after his death. He writes about his adventures: trekking through the Himalayas, crossing the outback on a motorcycle.
A life lived as if, somehow, he knew he wouldn't be here for long. But how could he know? How does anyone know how long they've got?"