III At the airport, I caught a bus to the Detroit depot where I boarded another headed north through Saginaw and Bad Axe. We should have lived in Bad Axe I thought, and my thoughts made me sad as I took a seat behind the driver. The best thing about riding the bus was that the people who ride the buss had money problems or health problems; otherwise, they would drive themselves. Therefore, they kept to themselves and allowed the other passengers the freedom to remain silent. Bao had told me that he liked dark places because he felt hidden in the shadows. He said, “Airport bars are too bright. The lights hurt my eyes and make me feel vulnerable.” “I don’t have that problem,” I responded. “I think it started on this mission over the delta,” It was midday and the VC shot our chopper down.” “Fuck,” I said. “Fuck is
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Although I experienced the horrors of combat, thinking about Bao’s experienced excited me; then, it made me sad because I recalled my buddies who died on patrol. I didn’t want to dwell on those memories and began to think about food. The best thing about flying was that the airlines fed you, and you could have a drink or two. When you ride the bus, there are few pit stops until you reach your destination. I was beginning to develop a headache as we reached the outskirts of Detroit and would have to wait until we reached Saginaw before I could purchase some aspirin and step into the shadows for a few quick hits on my pipe.
After I was drafted, I asked my dad what he thought about war. “You don’t have the balls to survive,” dad said, “All you’ve ever done is run and hide from everything. If you make it back, you can talk to me then.” “Go to hell,” I said and made a bee line for the door. That was the last time I said anything to him, and now he was dead and I wasn’t sorry about it. As I looked out the windshield, a light snow began to
Although I experienced the horrors of combat, thinking about Bao’s experienced excited me; then, it made me sad because I recalled my buddies who died on patrol. I didn’t want to dwell on those memories and began to think about food. The best thing about flying was that the airlines fed you, and you could have a drink or two. When you ride the bus, there are few pit stops until you reach your destination. I was beginning to develop a headache as we reached the outskirts of Detroit and would have to wait until we reached Saginaw before I could purchase some aspirin and step into the shadows for a few quick hits on my pipe.
After I was drafted, I asked my dad what he thought about war. “You don’t have the balls to survive,” dad said, “All you’ve ever done is run and hide from everything. If you make it back, you can talk to me then.” “Go to hell,” I said and made a bee line for the door. That was the last time I said anything to him, and now he was dead and I wasn’t sorry about it. As I looked out the windshield, a light snow began to