I am writing this slow, 'cause I know you can't read fast. We don't live where we did when you left. Your dad read in the paper where most accidents happen within twenty miles of home so we moved. This place has a washing machine. The first day I put your shirts in it, I pulled the chain, and haven't seen them since.
It only rained twice this week. Three days the first time, and four days the second. The coat you wanted me to send you, your aunt Sue said it would be a little too heavy to send in the mail with them big heavy buttons, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets. We got a bill from the funeral home, said if we didn't make the last payment on Grandma's funeral bill, up she comes. Your uncle John fell in the whiskey vat, some men tried to pull him out, but he fought then off playfully, so he drowned. We cremated him. He burned for three days.
Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pickup, one was driving, the other two were in the back. The driver got out, he rolled down the window and swam to safety. The other two drowned, they couldn't get the tailgate down.
Not much more news this time. Nothing much has happened. Write more later.
P.S. I was going to send you some money, but I already had this sealed.
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categories: ethnic, race, international