Dear Momma,
It has been three days since the great Internet outage, and yet it feels like a lifetime. I hope you and pa can forgive me for leaving North to find wifi. I know life is hard there. I remember leaving pa, staring blankly at his computer chess game. He mustn't blame himself for asking Time Warner Cable for a change. He couldn't have known that those city men would take it away and leave us hungry for email forwards and highlights from The Voice.
To-day I found work. I have migrated north to the La Puente Starbucks. I'm not gonna complain--you and pa raised me better than that. But life here is hard. We work in cramped quarters next to hipster music social media experts and squat students from Mt. SAC. They let us work, but we end up spending most of our money at the company store, which is very dear. Star-Many-Bucks, some of the guys call it. I know you don't like me spending money, but I was very weak, and bought the venti iced green tea lemonade, half sweetner. Please don't tell pa, as in his state the news might break him for good.
The promised wifi is quarter-rations. They appear to throttle access to Facebook, and I dare not risk the wrath of the foreman by attempting a Youtube playthrough. But I will prevail. My LaTeX documents compile, slowly, and I hope to return to-night with some remaining money and the latest projections from FiveThirtyEight.
Be strong, momma. I hope you and pa can trust in the Divine Providence of the Great Internet Provider. Say your prayers to Sts. Mike and Molly, the patron saints of near-midnight comedic relief. Trust that we are on the side of right, and we shall prevail over the darkness of local monopoly.
My love to pa.
Pvt. Ryan Yamada
(published in Letters Home from Internet Migrants)
