Here goes your letter, although there isn’t much to write about. I guess I told you everything over the phone.
Hope you get better soon, it’s awful to be sick.
Well, what do you want me to say? I can’t think of anything. I didn’t find much to do tonight in Fulton, I didn’t feel like bowling, so I came home and listened to the radio. There weren’t even any pretty girls around. I guess a fellow has to go to Mexico to find them. (‘Or New Haven’)
I would have come down to see you, but on second thought the place for a sick girl is in bed. I will try to get down Saturday evening and see you.
I hope they let me work tomorrow. I am getting tired of doing practically nothing all of the time. It makes my evenings seem awfully long. I am afraid I may get into mischief. I remember a person told me once, that an unoccupied mind is a devils workshop. Well, I could ramble on and on and not say anything, so I may as well close. Goodnight, sweet dreams,