Going to War

On the evening of March 7, 2003, I led my wife out the front door of our small three-bedroom home, up our slightly sloped driveway and into the middle of two empty, intersecting streets that met into a cross at our driveway. The asphalt beneath my toes was cool and jagged. The distant street lamps were blown out, and the twinkling stars that shone through the streaking clouds provided the only light. The air was crisp and the night was quiet, like the stillness of an early morning pond.

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