Kathy to Hilary, June 26, 1973, Tehran, Iran Steve has been living locked in his room, endlessly reading science fiction. I’m pretty much the same, but I’ll walk to Scabbyhead’s on Zafar for ice cream. Sometimes I call Johnny, but he is without fail asleep or gone on errands for his mother. I collect Bucket from nursery school and we get our ice creams and pofack namacky--I’m a pofack addict.
And the prom? A night and dawn of infamy. I don’t want to write about it. But it’s over and things are ok.
Johnny’ll be off to Paris in two weeks or so, at present his plans are to go to medical school there. I have been convinced to take journalism--but I’ll have to polish up my pen, it’s grown very rusty—and to try for a scholarship of some sort. Apparently (teachers, counselors, parents, etc.) think my grades and test scores are good enough to get one at a good school. I don’t know—what does it take to get into a good school? I REALLY DON’T KNOW or care really. I’ll cross those bridges when I get to them—AFTER I get to Texas. Whoopee!!
Love, Kathy
I guess I’ll write sometime before we move. I see I’ve left a few things out, like Johnny’s motorcycle accident (I wore green satin to the prom, he wore scabs). You’ll be in residence in Arlington after August 2? We leave then. I don’t know what our address will be after that.
Write, huh?
5:22:37 AM 
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