It subsequently appeared in a slightly different form in Weep Magazine . I mailed in my draft card on my eighteenth birthday. My country welcomed me into adulthood by going to war that very day. My father, who served in Venice during Vietnam, assured me the military wouldn't be that bad.
Misery loves company, even twenty years later.
He figured my eyesight would be bad enough to keep me out of action. And if that didn't work, I could always make eyes at my drill sergeant. I was pasting together a new magazine the night Desert Shield became Desert Storm, using an electric typewriter, glue, white paper, and a stack of New Yorkers for inspiration. That was a tough call. As children of the eighties, my generation was unprepared by the movies to define our societal role during times of conflict.