FIND A WAR AND LIFE. AN INCREDIBLY AMAZING AND AUTHENTIC EBOOK ON MODERN WAR...
...War was the same all-over, that Korean, Vietnam, Middle-East engagements would be over, after a thumping. That would only some-how be solidified, in their-destinies; unfortunately, and disprovingly, were mistakened. Uncle-Sam sought-out his own-feelings, in a toll and travail. …U.S. Government essentially was a “Bo Gess” about people but not money. The lone and solemn-wars, came and went. De, had been around for a few of them. He-knew instinctively, that war was never worth-it. But a policy of brotherly-love, patriotism, duty and dedication; always, deepened the devotions-unforeseen.
He could write a book about how lonely servicemen, were sold-on over-simplified and utterly, subsided to the innate and intimate-demises and despairs withheld by them being-there. ...Super-imposings, by supplicate and assertive-sentiments only-fed on by faults, forbades and ill-fortunate, fabrication. It was a cultural-commendation that supplanted-men and substantiated-distances, disturbed and disregarded, in-thinking. He could see-it in their-faces when he did volunteering at the local-enlistment-office. Some you could see that plain-duty as being sensical and others sustained by one-goal and then the rest “hardworking”, in every-turn of word.
Those camoed and uniformed-officers were simply plants, subjugated by the Bill, wishing-for a clean-discharge. Mumbly-Peg was like that, but some had the good-luck to be smart and take objectivity, as a way-of-acceptance. But war, is the money-pit of political-rule. Importance and improbability, were largesse-on the same single-coin... Possibility and plausibly, fed those with such appetites. It was an in/out and in-between account, and the news-papers, so earnestly understood. It was there for him at the paper-boy's stand.
Working in Philly, made a lot of things easy and others rather, seemly. Everyday Demonde came across bums, lying outside of the main-library on 8th and Senoire Avenue; nothing-strange for upper-Phil but he couldn't see who these people really were. Some wore old-coats, from a defunct-store or found in somebody's trash. Others had idiosyncracies, only a close-friend would know. On Sunday's he'd go by after his church-service and give them some donuts, he had left from the gathering. They gorged-on them like someone had given them...
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