This one’s an email, folded up and glued to the page. The header’s cut off.
I’m gonna head over to your place after class, but in case you’re not there, I need your help with something: post cards. Ever since the equinox I’ve been getting these picture postcards from another place. You know where.
I tried to send some scans but it all comes out garbled. The cards are a lot of old junk; kitschy pictures of German villages or Hugo Boss army men. The back’s written in English though. It’s this guy, a soldier I think, named Gregg. He’s writing home to this girl.
Pretty usual stuff, and only about forty years off, except everything’s a little bit wrong. All the brands are stuff I’ve never heard of, and you know all that racist bullshit that disappeared because the companies changed their names? He mentions gassing American partisans in a “coon chicken”, only the postcards are dated in the seventies after all that shit disappeared.
Matt thinks someone’s “trying to send a message” about something. I dunno what though. When he’s not talking about killing, Gregg gets pretty spicy. Sex and Death… that’s basically what They’re all about, isn’t it?
Maybe I’ll read some of them to you later. If we can’t figure out what’s up, we can at least have a good time…
- Jess P.