*a paper blows along the deserted streets*
I’m writing this to warn you and Father not to attempt to visit me in New Babbage for any reason, at least until the current crisis is over. It’s a long story but suffice it to say that things are not as they should be. And neither am I.
Recently I’ve lost any urge to eat cookies. Which is odd, to say the least. I mean, there’s a fine stack here right beside me and I’ve no urge to touch them at all. Even with the special high-grade engine oil you sent for the holiday season.
Unfortunately my hunger has increased for other, less… politically correct nibbles.
I can’t figure it out for the life of me. If Grandfather has any history of infections affecting clockworks of any type, please send a cable. Since my body is…
*illegible scrawls across page*
… iz hungry, always hungry now. I’z going to go hunting in da sewers to get eatings.
no. cookies. no. cookies. no. cookies.
*edge of page is torn off*