June 2, 2020

Dear Mr. Adams,

I do myself the honor to transmit to you the enclosed accounting of a battle yesterday engaged that foretells great consequence for our objectives and our republic.

In the early evening of June 1, the enemy began his Operations—an unexpected advance with a large brigade, outfitted with armor and cannon from the East. They attempted to cease our protestations in the park of our Marquis. There was great cannon fire and our men and women retreated with the utmost precipitation, flying in every direction and in the greatest confusion, notwithstanding the exertions of our Generals to form them. I used every means in my power to get them into some order but my attempts were fruitless and ineffectual and a great cloud of gas overwhelmed us. I peered out following the retreat from behind Le Pain Quotidien. 

Then, for the first time, I saw the Menace in the flesh. He appeared through the great gates, protected on his flanks by his most skilled mercenaries. I could only look from afar, cut off as we were from advancing, many of my men choking and heaving from the poisoned retreat. He was as grotesque and titian as I imagined. He lumbered as though in chains, pained from the burden of his unwarranted position, and as much so, a concubine aide, cloaked in black and the pall of dishonor that foretells a future heavy with regret.

The dolt stopped before the church of our Saint John and there was a hushed silence. He held aloft the Great Book and as he resembled so much the portrait of an ass, I thought of the verses of Job 11:12.  He mumbled some words, unintelligible but certainly of little relevance to the current state of the republic, and as soon as he had appeared he was gone, drawn back behind the gates as like evil behind a shroud. 

I am proud to say that our protestations then continued after a fine maiden ran to my side and gifted me a mushroom frittata and an avocado toast tartine. Upon this writing, we are providing aid to our wounded and so too, to our spirit; after a conference with the mayor, we have emblazoned a message upon the tar, for all the drones and thus all the world to see. 

If only racism might be abolished in the flash of cannon fire and not the slow, sure, imperceptible degrees by which it will likely extinguish, and our republic might march forward from this day as sure and steady as the beating drum of a disciplined army.

Yet, we have this reckoning. I know well my role in its actuation. Do not bring the issue to my mind, Mr. Adams, as it already there so uncomfortably resides. Mr. Jefferson and I know too well our present duty in renewing our republic and so to our individual consciences. We may not be able to rewrite history, but we know well how to make it. 

I have the Honor to be with the highest respect Sir Your Most Obedient Servant.

George Washington

P.S.  The Enemy, like Pyrrus at Asculum, has I believe earned a victory at great cost. At the time of this writing, one of our brave soldiers, still in shackles, sings out to the Enemy, and still we all sing out, “you about to lose yo’ job.” The scene is glorious, and I pray her to be right.