Dear Mudder and Dad,
Only time for a short note tonight. I gotta do a little work on the old “shootin’ iron”.
I just came back from taking a shower----what an ordeal. The showers here run intermittently scalding hot and ice cold. Right now I can’t tell whether I’ve been fried or frozen.
Boy! Am I bored. Stuff I’ve done a thousand times all day and nothing to do in the nighttime. “This other Eden—this England” I repeat myself, I know; but I can’t help but think of it every time I lose myself in the fog.
I’ll try and write a real letter tomorrow. I suppose that this is pretty disappointing as far as information goes but you said you wanted to hear from me even if it was just a word.