Dear Mudder and Dad,
I’m sending this air-mail special delivery in the forlorn hope that it’ll catch up with my last letter. I rather doubt whether or not it will. You see the censoring and mail handling is mixed up now so it’s impossible to get mail through in very great quantity or with any regularity. I have received only two letters from you recently—the last being no. 17. I had letters 18 and 19 several days before.
We’re going to be moved out. As usual we’re obliged not to say where or when or how so there’s not a “helluva” lot if elaboration that I can go into.
Haven’t done much lately outside of the usual routine. I’ve washed clothes and gone to a couple of shows in the evening. The other night I went to a vaudeville show (British). It was strictly from hunger. It was so rotten it was pitiful.
I’ve got to cut this short for the sake of the censor.