In 1917, I signed up to fight the Huns in France. Good men died all around me. And I saw no reason for it. The rules we lived by were lies. And they didn’t apply to those who made them. I swore if I made it home, I would never follow orders again. I left a soldier. I came home an outlaw.
People don’t fix each other. And they never become anything but what they’ve always been. All we get sometimes is a little luck.
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