'SORROWING, SIGHING, BLEEDING, DYING,' he repeated. He could just manage to wriggle his head-his whole head, thank God-below the window ledge. His indeterminate age-he could have been thirty or forty-five-was, in part, the result of the muscular rigidity of his body; a Do you want a ride? ON YOUR HONEYMOON? he asked.
What's that mean? I asked him. It had been made in a monument shop, with grave-marking tools; it may have had her wedding date on it, but it was a miniature tombstone. nd-so firm was their opposition to the war in Vietnam that they hadn't wanted their twins to be Americans. Michael's uniform.
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