Victims of the jetlag and overwhelmed by the feeling of physical greatness, we were. Incapable also of catching the New Yorker, except their hair, assuming you start to draw from top to bottom.
Gosh, that Gumbo escaped again, fast as a postman covering a block in two to four minutes. But wait, he gets caught in cattle barriers build by the Moma to make it all look like a game. I hope he survives Mount Pastrami. I sure hope so. After all I got used to him. He made me feel at home after he took picture, fingerprints and passport from me. In the city that never sleeps, excuse me, where bored Mexicans never sleep, coffee is refilled for free and you buy two, but get three, the tip should be never too little. Tip is the love you should give to the ones that deliver, instead of big slices of pizza, the message of god.
New York City, NY, U.S.A.
E. Koenig and Y. Sodeoka
Printed on light green paper