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Each had a story of the last world war, holding memories of fallen comrades and friends; Small and large victories; amusing anecdotes and tales to enthral young children, or bore the elder, young men. Not all of the war had been about blood and guts, mud, hard rations or killing the Germans and the Japanese. Some of it had lighter moments, but not much.Every year he stood apart away from the massed crowds and watched. He watched alone, and then left when it was done. Back to his little flat in Chelsea, back to his loneliness and the memories of his lost love, dead these past forty-nine years, dead and saved from the possibility of execution, dead by his own hand. Each year, the pangs of loss were more acute and all he had left was to wait, wait until they were reunited in death. He would not hurry the event. Not that he was afraid of dying. He had been dying, piece-by-piece, bit-by-bit since he had lost her.He got up from the bench and made his annual pilgrimage. Catching tube and. It was different with Laura she seemed to let me take control and let me set the pace I have to say I love having control. As these thoughts came into my mind they were disturbed by Laura warm hand on my thigh. Hey I have to use the bathroom. She told me in a hushed whisper as if she didnt want to wake anybody up. I looked over my shoulder and saw my mom was sleeping with her seats completely empty she was laying down. I felt that waking up my mom over this little thing would be a wast of time. Insted I grabbed Laura hand and walked her over to the bathroom. Passing by a young couple making out a few old people looking half dead as they slept and a particularly gassy fat man sleeping we finally made it to the bathroom that was locked. Crap. Looks like we have to wait Laura. I said and noticed Laura had an impatient look on her face. Theres another bathroom above us? Laura asked. We were in the first level of the train Im sure the top level had to have a bathroom too. I shaked my.
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