Dear Mom,
Quando uscirete dalla chiesa? That’s Italian for, When will you come out of the church? Don’t get too excited, I haven’t found God. I did meet an American guy with a huge mill house outside Genoa.
It’s, like, five hundred years old. He’s letting me crash, just have to help his gardener. I pick up phrases as we trim sunflowers. The gardener and his wife go to church every week. They keep trying to take me. She says I would smile more if I prayed. Reminds me of you. Don’t miss home much, but do think of everyone and know you’re all worrying about me. Don’t, these people are great, especially the American guy. We talk and drink lots of wine at night. He lent me a copy of W. Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. You might like it.
More later,
Billy
Mom,
I’m not coming home early, so stop asking. Lasciarlo solo! Leave me alone!
