I am sorry this letter is so late in finding you; I can't altogether blame the post so much as myself. I've been quite confused of late and I wasn't exactly sure what to do; until I read your letter.
Even though you are farther from me with every letter I write, It heartens me to know that you can enjoy the journey. Our situation may be dismal, but it makes me a little happier to picture you atop some stern, feeling the salty sea wind as a modern blonde-headed Scylax instead of hunched over and vomiting every half mile.
It has not been raining since you left. In fact; the weather has been lovely, the clouds have let up and so has the normal dreary fog. There isn't a shop window that hasn't been freshly cleaned and thrust open to let in the daylight. It seems that everyone here realizes that heavier rains are imminent and we should treasure these times.
Practices are held at the theatre with all of the back room windows open to let this new air and sunlight in. Everyone here misses you; even the terrified pinkish music students students who became more confident and better through your bullying. They were pacified a little when I told them you still intend to compose abroad, but I'm afraid there are rumours that I finally reached my limit and fired you. How far from the truth! All of the musicians, including the ancient veterans are acting like petulant children. It is very amusing to observe.
Yes, I did find your old journal (I'm afraid I stole it) and also some unfinished piano compositions I think you mistakenly left behind shoved between the pages (stole those also). Your "old August bullshit" is excellent, very witty and good enough to publish, (with necessary pronoun changes) although it is quite obscene. Should you, when you arrive find yourself in some disreputable bookstore in America, gazing upon a copy of " The London Adventures of Augette " , think of me. I'll be laughing. I hope you will be.