“Boston.”
“What is your occupation?”
“Actress.”
I thought it unwise to confide my matrimonial objective. No further questions, however. I was given a yard of ticket and on May 9th I boarded a refugee train at the Oakland mole, all dressed up in Red Cross clothes that fitted me nowhere.
But I had a lovely lunch, put up by neighbors, some fried chicken, and two small bottles of California claret. In another box, their stems stuck in raw potatoes, some orange blossoms off a tree that stood close to our tent.
Ah, dear old town, good-bye!
Every night I cried myself to sleep.
Thus I went to meet my bridegroom.
* * * * *
Boston!