|
|
|
|
|
|
by firefax
407 days ago
|
|
|
>We met only briefly and never talked, but I'm glad our paths crossed. Poor guy probably was carrying a lot with him. There is a famous poem[1] about ball turret gunners that immediately came to mind: >From my mother's sleep I fell into the State, >And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. >Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, >I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. >When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Death_of_the_Ball_Turret_G... Edit: Formatting |
|
|