Thursday, Jan 24, 2086

Breakfast at Sorena's. Those carne asada waffles are offending my cultural sensibilities, but my watering mouth has a stronger vote. And hey, not too shabby.

My peek goes off: 'Got my DD-214. Coming to Seattle. Any chance I can crash? - Sarah Jaye'

Sarah Jaye! A fellow grunt from the trenches, fighting tooth and nail against the Rapine Storm on the Chinese front. Looking me up, apparently with a shiny new DD-214 honorable discharge. Much more honorable than my classic section 8 exit.

'Ping me from the perimeter', I peek back. Trench humor never gets old.

----

'on perimiter'. Heh. 

Pick her up at Union Station, and she is clearly fresh off the base. Hair is longer, but cut and clean.

'Well hello soldier!' Big hugs, damn it's good to see someone back in the real world. At least, the saner world.

We head to Maritini Marven's, two blocks off, a seedy little joint where they don't glance twice at her duffle bag.

'Any friendly fire incidents involving COs since I left?', I ask.

'None. Although, Chavez did get his face ripped off clean by something unmentionable.'

'Too bad. Somebody should have had the satisfaction of taking that shot instead.'

'Hah! And even better, some greeny dragged his torso back for a proper funeral.'

We get shitfaced. I toss her some pills to dull the edge. And head back to my happy place. My shipping container full of guns in SoDo.

And stumbling drunk into the cool, dark machine shop, we lapse into old marine habits. We race against each other field stripping AR-25s.