DEATH ON THE BOOBA TRAIL

Rachid, alias Richard, is no longer with us. My Fez informant confimed his passing away just before my departure. What was first diagnosed as bad indigestion by hospital officials, turned out to be pernicious poisoning. The sardines were fresh, as Tanger has them from the sea to your plate, so something must have been fishy with the bearnaise, something that wasn't called for in a stomach-friendly recipe.

In view of the danger I seem to have gotten myself into, once again, I prefer to inform you of my whereabouts only once I am no longer there. Makes sense? Well it will have to do. What is so important about 2D and 3D that people are to give their lives, unwillingly I presume, so that they are never found? That's what I'd like to know too. Did D know what was in store for me when he sent me out on this mission? Is the cause in proportion to the risk incurred? I'm beginning to get a tad shaky in the knees and...Why am I doing this? I'm beginning to comprehend the full depth of inshallah!

Rachid, by the way, was an old acquaintence of our Richard's, el hamdo le-llah. They'd met during the hip 'n' happenin' days of Tangers. Too bad I never got to talk to him. Or, maybe I did without knowing it?

Otherwise, let me tell you, this is a beautiful country so far: rolling hills, cedar and pine forests, majestic mountains, lots of agriculure too (I now know where they grow all those plastic bags), the medinas are a nest of life, etc, etc, etc. But seriously, they could solve the unemployment problem here if they set people to clean up the towns and fields.

Well I gots the runs, so...
Yours faithfully,

Jack Stack.