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to seek for work, to find it and fight to hold it; Man, we're in a different world! Will the Employment Commissioned and Cunt-to-Casket Ensured ever believe what that world was like? That's what we have to show them, what you already have.

Each night (before getting in on top of each other) my fair Lynn and I get down on our consupiscient knees and prey to Godz Unknown and Godots suspected that you will put pen to page in simple and horny slang to tell what the Moberly Prowler and Howler lived through to get to your present girth, height, and clarity of bitterness. You were spared. Others perished. You were there. You did it. You have told, or half told, much of a great story. For YOUR sake as well as your heirs, get that fuckin autobiography a-goin, even if you clobber your young uns, your bed-mate and beer buddies. Don't leave us hanging on the back gates of gossip, picking the ole bones of posterity to find the Truth: tell us, Truestaff jack! and RIP among the bottles and bladders of memory. Any of us may cop out for the boneyard any day, and I'll resent if I happen to outlast you by a few infirmities and have to keep on wondering and waiting to fill in the Big Gaps in your terrible, splendid and incomplete Life.

If you love us, give us you.

Love! Charlie (Lynn writes under me)

Tell Clint his Tobacco is planted, not gone to seed & cigars will bloom , {nice of our trips)! C