In the morning I got up early. My Marine green alpha uniform was all laid out in the other bedroom, the other bedroom that wasn’t Julie’s. All that was missing was the rows of ribbons I’d removed after being on the base over a month in the past. I went back into my...
Chapter IV I pulled away from home in the Volks, only wanting to escape back onto the stretches of beach I realized I was finding some solace driving, if not doing anything else productive. Vietnam had come again out of nowhere. Nguyen, reaching forward from the past,...
This Chapter is dedicated to Jim Flynn The entire mess of paperwork that transferred the GTO to Slate and the 1969 Volkswagen bug to me took almost an hour. The Volkswagen was brought out from the back of the dealership and parked for me to drive. The GTO had...
The day wore on, my time spent playing with Julie, watching her sleep, and trying most unsuccessfully to write about what had happened to me in Vietnam. How to tell a story and have it accepted in a time when no such story was going to be received by anything other...
Piaget, the man who owned, with his prisoner brother, the San Clemente Hotel, was a font of information and assistance, although arcane in attire, language usage, and personal style. “Do you have a first name?” was one of the first things I asked him when we got a...