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1 May 1977, Dear Jack: Bedfast in a nursing home, I read very little now, and had lost track of you altogether. Somebody sent me an old copy of the 7ool killer? kitten? and I saw your very generous review of Pissing in the Snow. I often think of you and what a hell of a time we had in St. Louis during the depression. You and I were the only writers in the whole place so far as I could see...I'm still depressed in the wilds of Arkansas. If you have time, I wish you'd write me a letter. Vince Randolph