Wednesday, March 30, 2005

A stange afternoon

is when you drink a half rack of beer and watch "Hamburger Hill" for the thirteenth time. I have a friend who made it back from a hill like that. All his wounds are invisible....yet I see his wounds each time he says a man's name and says that man is dead. What I don't see or the fear...the terror. The futility. What I don't see is what these young men who died could have been or could have done had they lived.

What I don't see is why we would do this all again.