Miss you terribly June 4, 1985
Dear Mary Ann:
I rode home behind a car with a license plate from the state
where you moved, and I knew it was an omen.
So how is the wild mid-west treating you?
Things have quieted down here. But it’s gotten warm.
Pauly put his foot in his mouth again with his own private
storm brewing in the apartment next door.
I’m slowly getting the car you gave me together, though I’m
having some communication problems with Clifton Auto. It’s only a matter of
time before I get it on the road again.
It’s really a wonderful little car. I spent a whole week touring
around town just to get the feel of it before I brought it to the shop for
repairs.
It might just be able to make the trip out to see you.
By this time, you’ve probably settled into your new job.
Tell me how it went. Certainly, it must feel strange. I’ve been looking at a
map of the area where you moved. All the towns have names that sound like
Buffalo Springfield songs.
I found your town, a small place sitting on the banks of the
Arkansas River. It has its own history, but not like the history of Paterson
where we all grew up. Yet, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.
Has Johnny found a job yet?
I miss you both greatly. You never realize how important some
people are in your life until they’re gone.
I’ve been busy, working too much, trying to write. This last
is difficult yet I plug along. Scrap
Paper is at the printer. We’re looking to expand it soon. To what? Michael and
I are still working that out. I’ll get back to you when I know.
I’ve heard no word from Louise. Things have dried up again.
I suspect she will be moving soon, maybe out west again. But Ruby is too old to
be lugged around the way she was as an infant. I fear for both of them crossing
country. It disrupts their lives, and it should not be done as often as Louise
does it. At some point the two of them need to put down roots.
My roots are too deep.
Pauly is planning to move as well, possibly in with his
Fotomat boss, Bob, a marriage definitely forged in hell. I suspect one will
murder the other if they do.
Late, Pauly had gotten on my nerves, the strain of being too
near him for too long, and perhaps other things, too.
What I need is a real vacation. I do intend to visit you in
the not-too-distant future. I just hope the locals don’t lynch me a damned
Yankee if I come.
That’s it for now. I’ve got work this evening. Look for your
copy of Scrap Paper in the mail – a touch of New Jersey arts.
Love Always,
Al Sullivan
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