It was good he'd come home. Nearly four years Mitch had been gone, and they'd all got old.
Mitch:
1946, Machine Dreams
©2000 J.A.Phillips - text & images
unless otherwise noted
©2000 Nimworks Design - web site design
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It was good he'd come home. Nearly four years Mitch had been gone, and they'd all got old. |
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| He hardly ever thought of the bad things, although he thought of the men, Warrenholtz and Strauss and Wilson, and the base camp, alien the two years in New Guinea but now more familiar in memory than this house he slept in, as though he went back to it every night—the thatch-roof buildings and steamy air, the scrap heaps and tin shacks of the motor pool—looking at every detail but seeming just to live there as before, complaining with the rest of them, sweating in the grime of it and looking up to watch the slate sea . . . | |||||||||||||||
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| New Guinea trees flared straight to the sky and splayed their fronds; their shapes looked from the tents like intricate sprays held still by the humid night. The sea glared flatly and was warm in January and had no winter in it ever. | |||||||||||||||
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Mitch:
1946, Machine Dreams
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