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August 14, 1951
Dear Linda,

I sure hope you and Bobby are ok.

What we call Tent City is already full--and more people
arrive every day. The early comers are the lucky ones.
They have government issue tents. The rest of us have
whatever we can scavenge from the garbage dump a
mile away. I'm living with two other guys in a shack
made out of tar people, some half rotten siding,
candboard to plug the holes. Plus there aren't enough
latrines, we're on short rations, and people are starting
to get dysentery.

But, here's the good news! Remember the guide I told
you about? The one who smuggles people into your
Protection Camp? Well, he agreed to take me in! It
won't be cheap but who cares?

Apparently, there's an old storm drain that can be
accessed from a nearby creek--and leads straight into
the camp. Once I'm inside I'll blend in, find you, and
we'll be together again!

Don't tell anyone... Not even bobby. Take care hon,
and I'll see you soon!

Love,

Bill

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