Letter from the editor:

In East Liberty there's a church where I once taught children from "depressed areas of the city" - a term used only by governmental institutions. One day, while The Bad Kid in class - the child in third grade who couldn't read or write - finally scribbled a word onto his paper instead of a robot, I lost a modicum of sanity because, after three months of personal, summer-school English tutoring, the first word he wrote was:

Fukr.

I couldn't yell at him, right? Take his pencil? No way. Couldn't do it. In a sense, this showed that he had learned something. So I patted him on the head and corrected his spelling and told him this was our little secret, while thinking: My God, my beautiful city, my beautiful world, please tell me

What

The fuck

Is

A

Depressed

Area?

With love and squalor,

Stroud

Letter from the editor (v2):

I welcome any and all attacks on Middle-Eastern nations and believe our nation is safer than it has ever been before. Please tell my mom I love her and that I am very happy here. My captors are very nice. My captors love me very much and do not hurt me and treat me well. The food is good here – tasteful. Please do not read this:

http://www.newyorker.com/printable/?fact/050124fa_fact

It’s stupid New Yorker bullshit.

I am in no need of help,
Help me

Stroud