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38 Humvee she says there’s no reason to go home after her folks gave away her cat—the one thing she loved—so she’ll serve another stint and pick up skills she says she can use later and later—to make the point she pulls the trigger—a short round clearing the street like a new broom back home they write—“girl you got it going on” but there’s no reason to go home—she says—there’s nothing there for me and shuffles the worn out photos of tree lined streets the gym the bank the tabby her folks gave away and thinks of what she doesn’t tell them: how twelve hours in a Humvee you piss in a soft drink cup—anything that’s handy after another day of dust and sleep that stings your eyes until every shadow is a target still she re-ups for another hitch in a burnt out world where only her Humvee matters and a power drink that gets her through the day where there’s hell to pay and little more to count on except the ache in her ribs like she’s pulled something loose but can’t remember when ...

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