The Meatgrinder Detail

I hated special details. I knew where to find him. We had been warehoused together back in basic, after all.

His dress blues hung alone and neatly pressed in the closet. Dad's odd AWOL advice hearkened. "Keep one uniform. It looks like you meant to come back."

"Loverboy stepped out for cigarettes," he said. His outline spoke from the early evening shadows. "You know what they do to people like me in Leavenworth." I thought of meatgrinders.

"I'm glad it's your bullet that found me," he pleaded. I devised 'following protocol' as my alibi. Special details sometimes necessitated special favors.