My brother got a new typewriter, and now I can read his postcards.

[prog]

Up early this morning.
Pay day activities scheduled.
I think I've figured out most
of the scope. Fish heads,
fish heads; rolly polly fish
heads. Mom was giving me Hell
on wearing shoes and I'm not
sure if my fish is cooked I
ate. Eat them up um. I like
this type writter that my social
worker sold me for $20. Be
good and if you are, be better.
Love- Ricky.

Comments

footnote

[prog.livejournal.com]

(Ah... while writing that comment I had thought the original poster was a local I know well (due to misreading subject lines in my email box), making a rather out-of-character and rather socially clumsy comment about my brother's illness, so I sought to deflect any embarrassment levied at him through an unfazed response. Now of course, seeing it was some anonymous stranger, I feel bad, suddenly thinking that I am exhibiting Ricky's mind for the delight of the crowd. Enh... we'll see how I feel tomorrow morning.)