October 13, 1889-
Aye. I know the boys are makin’ fun a’ me ‘cause this “diary” I’m writin’ in. I tell ‘em it’s a journal and the rich men do it too, and if they gotta problem with it I’ll mess ‘em up. I sorta like writin’ down ma thoughts, makes me feel like someone actually listens. I never get real lonely though, I got ma boys, and the traffic here in New York never seems to die down. Times are gettin’ rough ‘round here… feels like no one wants these darn papers. They don’t realize what’s under all this “news”. There’s a boy.. that don’t get no food at night, ain’t got nothin’ in his stomach or pockets, and probably lives on those streets you rich bankers are afraid ‘a goin down. No sir, Money doesn’t grow on trees where we live. You act like it’s no big deal, but to us, its everythin’. These un sold papers of mine are what’s been keepin’ me warm at night, I sleep on ‘em. I sure do wish they tasted nice, ‘cause it’d be ma dinner, too. I hope times get better. It ain’t easy raisin’ myself at 14….
Pray for me,
Jack