[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Snagged another postcard today. Just a generic landscape of Utah, but it’s pretty. Rich oranges and warm sunlight. I’m not filling out an address obviously, which means I’ve got the whole postcard to write on and…anyway.

[click, static]

“Dear Harry,

It feels strange writing these postcards now, knowing you might be listening. My friend, Birdie—that’s right, I did meet somebody out here—picked up your transmission but I didn’t. They’ve got some wild setup that allows them to pick up a lot of frequencies from enormous distances. If you hear any morse code on your radio, that’s them.

So I’m not really sure that you are listening. I can’t hear you, so there’s a good chance you can’t hear me. But if you can…

The truck still works. Or, it should, if you’ve been taking care of it like I showed you. You could get in it right now and start driving. I’m going to Las Vegas for my birthday. You could meet me there.”

[click, static]

Anyway, I should get on the road. Whiskey out.

[click, static]

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