More annoyance. I spoke to the old bastard on Monday last. The charlatan claims that volumes of paperwork must be completed before my request will even be considered. One would think I was trying to xerox the Shroud of Tourin or something. So I write to you in between filling out these endless forms.
I had an interesting evening last night. I was at a phone booth downtown trying to call for reservations at an Ethiopean place I've heard a lot about. I had just put my coin in the slot when I heard an awful commotion. I turned around suddenly, the receiver still to one ear and saw a couple of large gentelmen rocketing towards me. One was twirling around in an obviously odd way while the other approached with an aluminum baseball bat. The first fell, drunk at my feet. The other swung with the bat, first hitting the side of the telephone booth and smashing in its glass, and next striking the poor bastard on the ground. He hit his leg quite brutally, I'm afraid. The next thing you know, a troop of homeless men and women began to move towards us, threatening the men with violence if he swung again. The bat fell to the ground with a hard clang and the man ran away, apologizing at one moment and cursing the next. Needless to say, I had some trouble making the rest of my reservation. In fact, after I emptied my pockets of the glass which had burst in from the booth, I made way to my hotel room where I had a perfectly terrible, though safe dose of room sevice.
Don't worry dear, I continue to work. I must, however, write around the evidence if you understand. So, until they let me in the library, there's little I can actually do. After that however, I'll be happy to write in the pleasant company of country cooking. (Of course, I'll do the cooking.)
Back to work. . .
I love you darling,
Henry
Peter was known to be a very fine cook.
