The quiet stretched out for some time, but eventually, the young man said, “Sir, you know how when you’re marching along and taking orders and staying focused so the bastards can’t sneak up on you? You lose track of time. Minutes seem like hours, days like months. Your past and present are so far removed from each other that … well, you live a lot of lifetimes in between breaths. Pretty soon you don’t even know what year it is.” He paused and took a deep breath. Rolling his hands into fists, he clenched his teeth, and answered, “As best as I know, I don’t have a home.” Realizing the soldier was getting agitated, Matthew changed the subject. “You look to be about the same age as my son. I peg you at about 24; am I close?”“I’m 23, Sir; been marching now for three years. After high school, I spent five years doing every dumb thing you can think up, and then me and two of my buddies had one too many drinks, and we walked into a recruiter’s office and signed on. It was accidentally one of the smartest things I ever did. Serving is an honor.”