The trip to Yerba Buena Island wasn’t remarkable in any way, except for the fact that I remained entranced with the passing scenes of difference and beauty that the entire San Francisco basin always offered. Pat drove her low-powered Pontiac to the parking lot and I got out, much more comfortable in my Saran-wrapped body than I’d been the day before. Because of the usage of the NVA preparatory wrap I’d given in, and not worn my Class “A” blouse, as I’d planned.

It was a few minutes before 0700. I had not given in on the Colonel’s order to be fifteen minutes early.

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