What can YOU say in six sentences?
Today the geezers, most of them vets, drydocked at the bookstore café, stare out at the fog—some of them feeling its rise more than others—and recollect with varying degrees of clarity how much bonus they earned when they enlisted, how much they got when they finally mustered out.
Most of them recall the pride they took in their spit shines, which they continued to do long into the years when everyone had given up caring, started wearing sneakers, even to church.
They find it hard to let things go.
The oldest among them, some of them carting around their own oxygen, seem happy enough just to be up and around, enjoying some simple companionship; but some of the younger ones, even after all these years, are still bitching about Fonda, pledging to go and piss on her grave when she’s gone.
Only one of them says that, since so many honorable men died defending the right to speak one’s mind, it seems to him that they ought to just leave her in peace.