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Dec,19/53

Dear Dorothy and Eddie:
    
San Francisco. Fog. Chill. Sniffles. But Tucson, [strikethrough] Phoenix [[/strikethrough]] That was another matter.  Up a mountain one day, to Mexico the next.  A savage little rodeo was visited enroute. The energy of the country,- big tough, angular men; women in slacks,
or jeans and sweaters, with bulges pointing to all comers, pushing through the smoke and noise of the bars and getting no response as they muscled against the cowpunchers - all indifferent, as they drank and stalled off the dancing to come.  Then back to town, and to Phoenix, and a browse through the the explosive Mexican quarter where we almost got into a spot of real trouble but faced it out and got to bed without a single knife in the ribs.  Sun, clear skies, and the clean dust that drifts out of the sand when the wind sweeps its hand impatiently over the waste flats and canyons. If I set up quarters somwhere in such a place for a time you most come and see and breathe the sharp energy of it.

I found the family in perfect shape and only hope that I will not disturb the regularity of the menage.  For no perceptible reason they still like me and since the number of such is being sharply reduced weekly I should probably consider my isolation and take thought for my social status.  As a case in point I might mention that on my arrival here I was the recipient of a very angry, name calling letter from my erstwhile friend Betty Parsons.  I made the mistake of replying without anger, and offered to buy back the picture she purchased just to clear the air of her pretentions and the smog of charity that such people hang over any purchase.  Her reply was more smug and vicious than ever, and closed with the remark that the "deal" was closed and she would do with the pictures as she pleased.  Oh yes, more "names" were thrown, hung around the fact that I saw no reason to speak to her about Janis since it was none of her business, and I thought that a taste of the independence she exhibits when her social affairs are involved would be appropriate.  I get the impression from her tirade that she takes total credit for everything that happens to contemporary painting on "the street" including the painting of the pictures.  Nice people.  Wow!  That gang has built up a myth around her and themselves and now they believe it!  Is there a psychiatrist in the house?  What I have seen and what they say are going to have a hell of a time when they meet.  No compatibility whatsoever.  It would be funny to me now except that I did not want to be reminded of the snake-pit at this time, and I do not like to receive insults that I cannot deal with at first hand.

As a post-scrip to the above I scrawled on her arrogant note that "Little girls should not make big, smug, brave loud noises about "courage" and "confusion" just because they cannot have everything.
"Your claws are showing through the cliches-too--."

Such were the depths to which I had to resort to get the filth