North of Boston

THEY aint much happened sense the last riting. I driv down to Maine to week-end with Jeputy Sherff Rick Jackson, a '27ener. Fust evening there, Rick he gets cawled to a dance where a gent had got massaged over the hed with a quart beer bottle full uv beer. He was extremely relaxed and horizontal. Local opinyun held it was real wasteful to swing the bottle without first drinking of the beer. Excited sittizen steps up and starts to tell Rick just what he could and couldn't do in making an arrest. Rick he just lights a match on the hammer of his ivory handled 45 and says real smooth and soothing "Now Iral, we aint going to have no trubble about this, be we?" Iral he swallers twict and casts his eyes down onto his shoe buttons and says "Not with me you aint, no indeed we aint!"

Next day we go to a gun shoot. When it was too dark to see the sights they give a clam bake. Everybuddy got a platter uv hot steamed clams, two lobsters and a cup uv butter. No eating tools.

We set in the grass and shucked clams and tore them lobsters apart. They was a moon climbing over the pines and the soft wind blowed the scent uv sweet grass, wood smoke and salt marshes awl mixed. It was the last long breath uv Fall that woked up awl the old emoshuns and yearnings in a feller.

Then we was stuffed and wiped buttery fingers on the shooting coats and set cross legged and tawked whilst the moon rid the clouds and the cigarettes glowed and dimmed. Wisht sum uv you fellers could ov ben along. You might of liked it.