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| I met you in the rain on the last day of 1972, the same day I resolved to kill myself. One week prior, at the behest of Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger, I'd flown four B-52 sorties over Hanoi. I dropped forty-eight bombs. How many homes I destroyed, how many lives I ended, I'll never know. But in the eyes of my superiors, I had served my country honorably, and I was thusly discharged with such distinction. And so on the morning of that New Year's Eve, I found myself in a barren studio apartment on Beacon and Hereford with a fifth of Tennessee rye and the pang of shame permeating the recesses of my soul. When the bottle was empty, I made for the door and vowed, upon returning, that I would retrieve the Smith & Wesson Model 15 from the closet and give myself the discharge I deserved. I walked for hours. I looped around the Fenway before snaking back past Symphony Hall and up to Trinity Church. Then I roamed through the Common, scaled the hill with its golden dome, and meandered into that charming labyrinth divided by Hanover Street. By the time I reached the waterfront, a charcoal sky had opened and a drizzle became a shower. That shower soon gave way to a deluge. While the other pedestrians darted for awnings and lobbies, I trudged into the rain. I suppose I thought, or rather hoped, that it might wash away the patina of guilt that had coagulated around my heart. It didn't, of course, so I started back to the apartment. And then I saw you. |
This. Sounds like it was written by a professional writer. Powerful none the less.
Another good point.
The high that say in Boston was 37.
But it's still plausible. Perhaps she was at a nearby party, got upset, and ran outside for a few minutes.
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Just kidding, but the pessimist in me tells me that all kinds of things on the internet aren't real. Nicely written though.
This. Sounds like it was written by a professional writer. Powerful none the less.
That was my take on it. Moving nonetheless
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Just kidding, but the pessimist in me tells me that all kinds of things on the internet aren't real. Nicely written though.
The high that say in Boston was 37.
But it's still plausible. Perhaps she was at a nearby party, got upset, and ran outside for a few minutes.
A sleeveless dress in Boston on New Year's? Doubtful, unless she is very rough around the edges.
LMAO...Very good!
And of course, it would be Moondawg to scour Craigslist looking for missed connections. Must have been bored, bro.
Smell of Hanoi burning at 40000 ft in a pressurized cabin (more likely than the sleeveless gown, though.)
Drinking a fifth and walking around???
Haha! That's exactly what I was thinking
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I have hard days, too. My wife passed four years ago. My son, the year after. I cry a lot. Sometimes from the loneliness, sometimes I don't know why. Sometimes I can still smell the smoke over Hanoi. And then, a few dozen times a year, I'll receive a gift. The sky will glower, and the clouds will hide the sun, and the rain will begin to fall. And I'll remember.
And of course, it would be Moondawg to scour Craigslist looking for missed connections. Must have been bored, bro.
How do you think I found out about the Iranian ladies?
I hope it's true, but this was a very funny line.
No judgment here...