Hi Hon;
Natcherly I don’t get the word--the last couple of letters to you were sent to the Fresno address, an you are maleless for days’ndays. I hate it, you must too (Sounds just like a radio twidget)
By know I hope you have counted up the ole nasty points--need 44, only have 42. Relax stinky, they won’t give the green lite until that full six is finished anyhoo. Wif an ever-lovin lil wife, would have 52, which is higher than most people are able to muster. All yesterday
afternoon, the Seabees gave away free brew. My my but, it was intoxicated out--the poor slave labor are really sad. Not one in a hundred has enough points. Bitchety, bitchety, bitch all the time. Each character had different views on why he should be released. I just sat around with that sad eye, drank their brew and listened with a closed mouth. The married men believed that they never should have been drafted, the single ones think two years is enough time in. Damn, don’t those people think I want to go home too. May make it too--I believe the school will probably close now that hostilities have come to a standstill. You know hon, these strikers are no longer a great necessity for replacements an if they aren’t necessary, why teach them. If it does close, the bureau will send the instructors to a receiving station.
Now, if the luck holds, may get caught in a draft headed for the states. Wouldn’t that be sad--yas. (Have class, wait)
The best of the week: “Candy” an me were out borrowing some ice for beer tother day an we had to work thru’ a ships cook named Berettilli. He’s givin’ us lots a guff so to expedite operations, Leroy called him a dumb Mediterranean Irishman--we got no ice--
Love
Kenny Lee
Kenneth Lee Martin SM1/c
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