Sublime

I was there. So was my old war buddy, Bernard V. O’Hare.

his side to greet him on the foreign shore. Maybe it’s stupid to even articulate such hopes. But, then again, maybe it’s more stupid not to.

Trout held up a single finger. “One.” “Was it enthusiastic?” “It was insane. The writer said I should be President of the World.” It turned out that the person who had written this letter was Eliot Rosewater, Billy’s friend in the veterans’ hospital near Lake Placid. Billy told Trout about Rosewater. “My God—I thought he was about fourteen years ol

On my last day I sauntered up the Champs-Élysées, tracing the liberators’ path, thinking all the while of Patton.