Dear Sir, 

I was pleased to look over your novel. I like the description! An action-packed comedic mystery is just my cup of tea. But I have a problem. My telephone has gone missing. For weeks I’ve been unable to locate even the cord or cable coming into my office. We here at BALE, located on the 27th floor of the Jensen Building, have never experienced such turmoil, so please forgive this long delay. 

After talking to the superintendent of our building, Mr Curry, I was assured that a letter carrier could instead bring you the packet of contracts and novel to be autographed. Sign if you would please and once this is done we will send you the 1st check. 

But then another problem arose. On the day of delivery, there was a mishap. 

The rain had started sometime early that morning, here in Madison. By morning’s first light the back roads into town were flooded, impossible to traverse. So much so, that a clothesline in our courtyard dipped from the weight of hanging sheets, nearly soiling them. I suppose you have no interest in that and so I will continue. 

Mr. Gordon, our courier, was thrown off the road by a stray thought which completely captured his attention after observing a naked woman hitchhiking in the rain. 

Then an unseen dip in the road caused his 56′ Chevy to become airborne, on its way to being buried in 4 foot of mud. Hounded by the thought of not being able to dig his way out, Gordon decided to walk. But, there was a challenge. Nine-miles, nine- long miles; that was not the problem. The fact that none of his limbs worked, except one arm, was. 

Pounding his way out of the wrecked auto was the easy part and so making his way back to the road was even easier. Being how he was upon the mud bank fifteen-feet or so.{So; is that too many so’s in one sentence?} So anyway, when Gordon opened the door it was easy to slide back to the road. 

The driver behind the headlight of an approaching auto, could not see the stranger Gordon, lying at the edge of the road. Nor could Gordon take the chance that this might be his only chance to make it into town, for your 7:00 a.m. drop-off – sign-em – bring back, thing-a-ma-jig; whatever. 

Gordon, you know, is a large man. He claims a fifty-two-inch waist, but between you and I, seventy-two would be more like it…anyway. 

Undoing his belt with his teeth was, mind you, not an easy task, then after wrapping it tightly around his one good arm, he flung it out at the 1956 Ford pick- up as it passed. The belt buckle caught the intended hitch so that Gordon was able to catch a ride into town. 

Gordon’s rather large size had saved him. Planing behind the Ford pick-up had allowed Gordon to merely skim the surface of the flooded streets, but he arrived five-minutes too late for pick-up, drop – off and signing; whatever. Plus, sadly to say, all the contracts were lost in this mishap… So is it O.K. that we try again tomorrow? 


Thomas Way 

Sr. Manager 

Hi, I found this on the street over by Jackson and Fifth 
Thought it might be of importance 
Loved your novel by the way… 
But in my opinion, it still needs some work 

Assistant Street sweeper 
Gus Marchedy