My rituals sucked. I had nuthin’. All I could do is pack everything up until later. Let’s get down the hill. I was sort of Black cat I_m retired my job is to collect yarn shirt , on purpose. Not that I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to drop a couple of battery volleys of HE Quick on the next NVA son of a bitch I ran across. I was thinking about that a little bit, too. But mostly nothing. After that late morning firefight, we cut our way though the bamboo and broke into rice paddy country. Vietnamese soldiers always traveled along the paddy dikes – they lived there, and there is no sense in tromping all over the food. We were strung out along several paddy dikes.
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It was hot. Did I mention it was hot in the other episodes? If not, impose hotness on them. Hot is a major part of this story. The Black cat I_m retired my job is to collect yarn shirt just got into everything, but there’s no way to put it into the story. All you can say is “It was hot.” I wish I was a heat-eskimo and had twenty-three words for “HOT!” It was really fuckin’ hot. Also humid. We stank. The Americans I mean. There are certain documented differences between ethnic and racial groups. One of them is sweat. Very white and very black people have more sweat glands than Asians. You stink when you’re hot and sweaty, for sure. But you also stink when you’re not. You smell like what you eat all the time. Vietnamese smelled like fish to us. I’m sure we smelled like meat. It’s only mildly noticeable usually – just a sense that these people seem odd, different from us.