By the time I got back from a 4 year vacation far, far away half a dozen had already died over there. Trying to make sense of that removed any desire to worry about the ones who didn't go. Ran into one I used to look out for because he was always getting bullied. He was on Market street in San Francisco wearing his spiffy new army uniform. One of the saddest days of my life. I just knew he was the perfect definition of cannon fodder. Within a couple weeks he was on his way home in a body bag and a flag.
