The last time I remember was along mud-sand walls, buff, sizzling tink-tink-tink not too fast, they can’t shoot for sour batshit, I ran, bowing under the weight boots tight, mags full hands sweated onto parkerized dust “C’mon, Joey!” and he laughed that way like a kid, immortally cheerful, fantasy blue-eyed love doll to the Kurds … [more]
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21-May-2010 by 6 Comments
With the rain slowed to a drizzle, we sat around a guttering fire, working cuss words into the conversation for practice. Intent on winning this little competition, I was the last to notice that the other guys had shut up. And looked up. “Can I help you, sir?,” said the kid across the fire. That … [more]