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NEWBURGH, NEW YORK
I just came back from the P.X. where I called you. I’m sorry you weren’t home, I didn’t think you would be. I planned to call later, but I’m flying again tonight.
I’m sorry I haven’t written more this week but this night flying takes up all of the little sack time that I have. You’ve been swell about writing, hon. You have no idea how good it is to come crawling back from P.T. and find one of your letters on my bed, but did you ever try to read a letter in the shower? Have you got any waterproof ink? I hardly have time to read them, much less write.
Yeah, that’s the song “That could happen to them,” er, no;…”It could happen to me,” well anyway I like it.
What are you doing these nights that you’re not getting any sleep? Have you tried going to be early, or is it the lack of Ovaltine in your diet? Well maybe this weekend we can get in at a decent hour, (desent – descent, decsent hours) (how the hell do you spell that?), 3:30 instead of four. I’m not promising anything now, but Saturday night I’m going to try to get tickets to a show in N. Y. I’ll see if I can get a nice soft pillow for you to sit on.
Say, Sunday is the 29th are we going to that wedding? I’d forgotten all about it. I’d like to go, I love weddings.
Well hon, I’ve got to go to some lecture on night flying safety now. I’ll see you Saturday angel. In the meantime, stay sober.