Dear Maggie an th bairns
Ah've eventually fund oot hoo tae send yis aw a letter fae America. Ye stamp it, same as usual, an throw it in a litter bin. Mind you, ye hiv tae mak shair it's a blue wan - it disnae work wi' onny ither kind.
Ah managed tae hire a braw car tae drive aroond in. It's caw'd a Cadillac. Th man at the hire place sayed tae tak a minivan fur aw oor cases, but ah h'd wan o them years ago, an they only h'd twa seats. Besides, ah wanted sumthin a bit newer.
It's a braw car. It's got a gong in it somewhere, cause it kept makin boingin noises aw th time, but th screamin o th passengers drooned it oot. Seems, they drive diffrent cross here. On th ither side, like.
It even lets ye pit yer name in, so it tells ye who ye are when ye start the car. Se'en as maist o th big car drivers look gey auld, an a wee bit wandered, it probably helps tae be telt wha ye are.
When we get tae th hotel, Ah'll tell ye aw aboot it. Ah'm tryin tae figure oot th money, noo. Aw th notes look th same.
Till th next letter. Wish ye were here.
Your lovin Malcom
ps Erchie went tae wan o thae 'All you can eat' places this mornin, an he hisnae come back. We'll hae t' go look fur him.
A letter fae the New World
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