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My beloved Thomas,
My mother often said, “A drop of love can bring an ocean of tears” — that means I still miss who you used to be. I'm lookin' at your photograph, and I don't know you. I read your letters, and it's like some other sap wrote 'em, some sorehead who's lost his nerve, not the swell pal I left back home. Every word in your letters shows you're taking things too seriously, and the same goes for your photo — it's all changed. I'm still prayin' for you and your soul to come clean. I don't know if you're mixin' it up in the war now or soon, but I'm sorry I can't give you a ring from this dump of a village, and I can't hoof it back to Hamburg to call you. Keep your chin up, and you know what to spill to Peter.
It really is a shame I can't be with you now, and it's got me hotter than a two-dollar pistol that you're fallin' for them Hitler Youth dog shit again. You should’ve held your horses, and we could’ve scrammed together. You're prob'ly laughin' in my face and sayin': “You must meet roughness with roughness.” I don't even wanna think about you sellin' your soul to that Nazi flimflam. I know it'd be a sock in the jaw. But remember, even if mugs come for you, you gotta face 'em like a man. After all, this stormy racket that's got the whole country in a twist has ruined plenty of dreams. I still recall that day I got cornered on the street by the Hitler Youth, including' my old pal and Swing Kid Emil. They clobbered me like a mutt and cracked my mitt, threatenin' my jazz gig!
Ever cross your noggin you'd be in a scrap so quick? I never got to give the high sign to our friends, Helga, Otto, Little Willi, and Emil. Last I heard, Willi's followin' his brother's lead and keepin' the hot Swing a-spinnin'. You've been dodging lead so far, hope you've seen the light as well.
Keep your peepers peeled and write often.
Sending you a heart-to-heart buss,
Yours, Arvid.