I had this pall in WA. He looked and moved like he was 108. His knees were shit. Most of his brain was washed away by years of substance abuse. He didn't say much ever, he lived under a bridge basically.
He gave me a black eye once because I snuck up on him by accident. The few times I could get him to answer questions I figured he had seen shit no man should see.
Anyway. I think he died when we still were there. I couldn't find him in the end and there wasn't anyone I could've asked of him from either.
I called him Rambo in my head after our fist eye meet and greet but I doubt I'll ever forget the guy who didn't even tell me his name in the year and a half we met almost daily. He, and the few others who lost their lives to mental illness after serving I knew back there made a real impression on my family. I'm grateful for that.
