Dear letter-friend,

 

My name is Helmut. I live in Cologne, a great city with a famous

dome and Germany's longest flood, the Rhine. My parents are

successrich undertakers and their work makes them much fun.

My father is mode-maker and my mother has a small fabric, which

makes dustsuckers.

 

I have spared some money and maybe I drive to England by train

and beseech you. I am scholar in a gymnasium. I have good notes

but sometimes the teachers go me deerish on the ghost. Yesterday

I had to come to the director in the pause. I must underhold me

with you. Take place, he said. What's loose? I asked him. Why

have you tailed the school? he wanted to know.Oh, mist, I

thought and said:  I was diseased. I went on the tooth-flesh.

I felt hounds-miserable. What shall all this?Don't overspan the

bow, you dreamdancer, he said.  You must overwind the inner

swinehound or I'll drive sledge with you. Our director the

old juice-sack!

 

And so goes it the dear long day. Sometimes I really have

the snout full. But fore-yesterday, George Tailor, a school

comrade became his motor-wheel and naturally we probed it out:

thirty grades in the shadow and fullgas on the autobahn a sow

stark feeling. Guile! There goes the post up! But suddenly the

greens dive up and say:You look out as if you have no driver-shine.

You are on the woodway,George  says and fummels around in his

hose-bags, but suddenly he looks like the cow when it thunders:

I have it at house.Now we have the salad, I thought, but the

policist said Makes nothing. I have a funk telephone. They chose

the number of George's father: Mr Tailor? At the apparatus. Has

George the driver-shine? Logical.Okay. Then we will let five be

straight.

So can it go. But I was stink-sour. Now it was too late for the

crimey I had willed to look in the television. Well, I must shut

this brief now.

 

Make it Good!

 

Helmut