I chronicle the soldier’s adaptation to the city for his son’s entertainment behind the scenes. He’s really not cut out for suburbian life, he loves to shock and provoke and his exploits while rude are hysterical.

I am going to start putting some of this stuff on my blog once I get my nerve up. He’s currently assimilating himself in to the culture of the city gym and last night, P, got caught in the net…

“Yeah, these two bastards were talking in the sauna. Whether they are going to fight or not fight. What do you think, paratrooper, they said.”

“How did they know you were a paratrooper?”

“Well I’ve got that tattoo.”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t think people would necessarily know what that means.”

“Well it says paratrooper right on it,” he said, looking somewhat incredulous.

“Oh…” I said, pretending I remembered. “I guess I should probably read you. What other information is spelled out I wonder? I’m sorry. I will read your arms the first chance I get.”