July 30, 1899

Dear Jack,

Damn this place.

I'm not okay. Everything hurts so much and I'm never going to get out of here. My escape plan was lousy and you ain't coming to help and Frog is dead. He was dead when I woke up this morning and they've already taken him off to God-knows-where.

Thinking about Santa Fe was lousy too. How's it supposed to fix all our problems? It's just a place out in New Mexico with different colored dirt than we got here.

I miss you, I miss the fellas, I miss the rooftop. I ain't going to see it again but I miss all of that. I hope the strike is going okay.

I'm tired. That's all I'm going to write.

The end

Crutchie