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1709 E. 115th Street
Cleveland, Ohio
4 Grove Street,
N.Y.C. & May 11th, ‘23
Dear Charles:
I’m taking a day off the much beaten path in sheer desperation at my unanswered mail. Naturally you are one of the first casualties, and if the pen is mightier than the sword you won’t be able to stand this fire-farting of mine very long. I am in a mood for superlatives ever since the water closet over-flew at maison Munson the other day before I could collect my drawers around my hips. But that’s not the haff [sic] of it, -- such a round of hospility [“tal” is added, handwritten] as I’ve been undergoing lately is very strenuous, and if this letter smacks of a “hang-over” I’m not the only one to cry surprise. I’m just discovering what a rich place this village is, I mean the whole town, of course, from Battery to Bronx. It is rich in good dispositions, by which I mean that if you haven’t enough to buy a bottle there is always someone near to help you. Wish I could tell you about some of the recent evenings, midnights and dawns. I’ve been so much the guest of Slater Brown (the “B” of Cummings’ “Enormous Room”) and his is so remarkably fine that my sorrows and foot blisters have been much alleviated and I can look the whole world in the face, a drunkard and a man! Policemen here don’t mind if you step up and occasionally use their tummys as tom-toms, neither do neighbors mind your “early” shouts from
