Yes, I Have A Problem With This

Ah, 18, that magical age in this culture when you are legally adult enough to be required to register with Selective Service just in case somebody feels the need to send you into a combat zone where you watch your best friend’s life end in front of you, but not legally adult enough to buy your own beer to try to forget for a little while the look in his eyes as he died.

%d bloggers like this: