The ones who did fight won't brag, I gather. And they'll leave tales of R and R in Seoul for their brothers. Papa, I just want to write. Or better yet, read. In books I'm back on cobblestone streets before the mad tangle of telephones and electric lights.
Light is so sickening at night unless it's from a flame.
Papa, hear me out. I've sold a story to Amazing on the condition of a subtle change. A regular of theirs is a bit dry and they find my style has been suitably influenced. Practically plagiarized, I'm afraid.