"Dear Mom, I can't write, as you know, so I'm reading you this letter instead. I am good. Everything here is pretty good. I hope you are good, too. I got a job from a man I met at the Memphis bus station. His name is Leroy Stanke, pronounced just like it sounds, and he is a billionaire traveling incog neato. He engaged me as his personal valet and will pay me at the end of the month. Incog neato means I'm not supposed to talk about it, I guess.
We mainly walk around town, looking for what Leroy calls recycling opportunities. Leroy also has a small grant from the city for keeping count of the pigeons and making adjustments as he sees fit. It's steady work and we always have food. There's no formal reporting, which is nice. He don't need the work, of course. It's more like a public service.
Memphis ladies are kinda snooty, sad to say. I was doin' ok with one named Betty, I thought, til she start askin' me for money. I told her maybe end of the month and she stopped talkin' to me. Her brother came at me with an axe! Go figger.
God is smiling on me. Thanks for the jacket and I got two pair of underwear now, so I can swap em out every week. I will get pants on my first payday.
I'm sorry to hear bout Uncle Bobby Ray. Damned if that fortune teller didn't get it exactly right though! Tell Raylene I'm real proud of her. Tell Dad I'm proud too.
Now I'm all curious to know who died in that pick-up truck. Sounds like Carl and Obediah. They was neither one ever too good with knots.
I'm sending this to the old address and hope they will forward it to your new. If you don't get it, don't worry. I'm readin it to Leroy too so we have a copy. Your son, Sweet Jr."
