Amidst the military madness, picture two soldiers, me and my buddy Takeaway.
We found ourselves stuck in a two-week whirlwind of guard duty, "the help," and so-called "free time," which was never really free because there was always something to clean or pretend to clean.
Now, let me tell you about Takeaway. He was a scrawny fellow with a knack for mischief. It was almost like he had a Ph.D. in getting us into pickles or sneaking out of them.
On one of his weekends at home, Takeaway met a girl, and bam! He was smitten faster than you can say "Camouflage Casanova."
For days, he couldn't stop yapping about her like a chatty parrot, turning the simplest conversations into tales of courtly love - military-style, of course.
But then, as fast as love ignited, it fizzled. Long-distance love turned out to be more challenging than an obstacle course. She told him, "I can't handle it, Takeaway. The miles, the uncertainty... you're never around!"
Takeaway's heart crumbled, and I tried to be the philosopher-in-arms. "Takeaway, my friend," I declared with a dramatic flourish, "love can be a battlefield, and not all battles are victorious. But us soldiers? We march on, whether it's a battlefield or the battlefield of the heart!"
We both quietly looked at each other, he cracked a smile, and we both started laughing.
"You're full of shit" he laughed.
So, in the rhythm of guard duty, the grind of "the help," and the unpredictability of both military life and love, we just let time go on.
