Where were you stationed?
What rank...
Did you ever...
How did it feel...

On the park bench, half of a bottle of wine, couple cigarette butts safe and dry in a foil hot-dog wrapper, a dirty change of clothes- listening to the rain with my eyes closed. Think I took a wrong turn in the past, got off of the right track and ended up in Raleigh, where I feel the storm come down around me like it did back then, flooding the city streets were no one seems to notice much.

And when they notice me, they ask the same questions.

Where was I stationed?
What rank was I?
Did I ever kill anyone?
How did it feel?

A couple of mud-trudged hours later, a change of scenery. Rain drips from my nose but it never seems to bother me. I spend another night beside the road, sleeping in my clothes. Eleven miles from Raleigh. Empty wine bottle for my pillow as I listen to the traffic through the rain, it strikes me as romantic and tragic as tail lights fade away.

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