I was excited to be part of Special Forces, the next best
thing to Mission: Impossible.
We got a rude
awakening when the enemy threw packages of explosives.
No one thought of
jumping on cherry bombs to save the team.
Oh, Jesus.
There really are no atheists in foxholes. We all scattered
to our mothers.
The Fox Street Boys were Nazi bastards for using
firecrackers.
We went to an Irish arms dealer named Tommy who made himself
older with a cigarette He looked like a darker version of Jughead from the
Archie comic books.
What can I do you lads for, Tommy grinned as he opened up a
cardboard box armory.
The next time the Nazis charged us on the field, I popped up
with a homemade RPG.
Their eyes opened wide and mouths dropped when they saw
incoming hell.
We had fun in the burnt-out buildings in the South Bronx of
America.
It was another rude awakening when Tommy double-crossed us.
He played both sides to make business and business was good.
Welcome to a kid’s version of Apocalypse Now.
It was way cooler then Sesame Street.
Then, as seen on TV, some of us went to the recruiting
center on Melrose Street.
Nothing wakes you up than US Army ice-cold water splashed in
your face.
I met Danny who told me his story as an enlisted man.
My name is Danny too.
I call this chapter The Bronx Identity.
It’s a psychodrama.
Homeland this.
Our House In The Middle Of The Street sung by Madness
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