The Results of Reading Too Many Civil War-Era Letters

My Dearest Richard-

As I type this, the morning rain falls lightly on my sunroom awning, like a dwarf tossed from a blimp. The metallic percussion delights my ears, but has proven a fright to my cat Ben Franklin, who otherwise spends his mornings sprawled across the floor like a beached raccoon.

Softly, the rain lands upon my lawn, restoring my grass and replenishing my dreams. With each splashing droplet, my soul rejoices and my abdomen gurgles with merriment. O that you were here with me to share in this sweet moment! I confess that I yearn to hold your hand ‘neath the weeping willow with warmest affection.

Also, we would suck down some Coors.

Do you remember the night when you tickled my belly-skin with your fingers? Do you remember how the rain washed all remorse away, like Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner? That evening’s enchantment has relived itself many times in my memories since then. I can scarce forget the fondness of your calloused fingers, thickened by hard prison labor.

I hope these words find you well, Richard, and fully recovered from the dreaded pox. I have enclosed a package of maple custard, prepared tenderly for you. May its sweetness remind you of my most tender devotion.

P.S. Say hi to Carl for me.