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"
Fuck
,
you
think
he
can
beat
Rita
?
You
’
re
crazy
!
"
"
Eat
!
Eat
!
Eat
!
"
"
Watch
the
doors
,
don
’
t
want
nobody
breakin
’
this
up
!
I
got
ten
bucks
on
the
scrawny
guy
!
"
followed
immediately
by
,
"
Twenty
on
Rita
!
"
Then
someone
else
cried
out
,
"
Where
’
s
my
fried
shrimp
?
I
lost
my
fried
shrimp
!
"
It
was
hot
,
it
was
loud
,
and
in
a
way
I
can
’
t
explain
,
it
felt
like
home
.
There
was
an
invisible
bond
that
hadn
’
t
been
there
my
previous
times
through
the
loop
.
I
’
d
had
a
taste
of
what
tomorrow
would
bring
,
and
suddenly
all
the
little
things
that
happen
in
our
lives
,
the
minutiae
of
the
day
,
took
on
new
importance
.
Just
then
,
being
surrounded
by
all
that
noise
felt
good
.
In
the
end
,
we
ate
every
industrially
packed
umeboshi
in
the
barrel
.
Rita
had
the
last
one
.
I
argued
that
it
was
a
tie
,
but
since
Rita
had
gone
first
,
she
insisted
that
she
had
won
.
When
I
objected
,
Rita
grinned
and
offered
to
settle
it
over
another
barrel
.
It
’
s
hard
to
say
whether
that
grin
meant
she
really
could
have
gone
on
eating
or
if
the
overload
of
sour
food
had
made
her
a
little
funny
in
the
head
.
The
gorilla
from
the
4th
brought
in
another
full
barrel
of
the
red
fruit
from
Hell
and
placed
it
in
the
middle
of
the
table
with
a
thud
By
that
point
,
I
felt
like
I
was
made
of
umeboshi
from
the
waist
on
down
.
I
waved
the
white
flag
.
After
that
,
I
talked
with
Rita
about
everything
-
Yonabaru
who
never
shut
up
,
Sergeant
Ferrell
and
his
training
obsession
,
the
rivalry
between
our
platoon
and
the
4th
.
For
her
part
,
Rita
told
me
things
she
hadn
’
t
had
time
to
get
to
in
the
last
loop
.
When
not
encased
in
her
Jacket
,
the
Bitch
wore
a
shy
smile
that
suited
her
well
.
Her
fingertips
smelled
of
machine
grease
,
pickled
plum
,
and
a
hint
of
coffee
.
I
don
’
t
know
which
flags
I
’
d
set
or
how
,
but
on
that
160th
loop
my
relationship
with
Rita
deepened
as
it
never
had
before
.
The
next
morning
,
Corporal
Jin
Yonabaru
didn
’
t
wake
up
on
the
top
bunk
.
He
woke
up
on
the
floor
.
I
found
no
peace
in
sleep
.
A
Mimic
would
snuff
out
my
life
,
or
I
’
d
black
out
in
the
middle
of
battle
.
After
that
,
nothing
.
Then
without
warning
,
the
nothingness
gave
way
.
The
finger
that
had
been
squeezing
the
trigger
of
my
rifle
was
wedged
three
quarters
of
the
way
through
my
paperback
.
I
’
d
find
myself
lying
in
bed
,
surrounded
by
its
pipe
frame
,
listening
to
the
high
-
pitched
voice
of
the
DJ
read
the
day
’
s
weather
.
Clear
and
sunny
out
here
on
the
islands
,
same
as
yesterday
,
with
a
UV
warning
for
the
afternoon
.
Each
word
wormed
its
way
into
my
skull
and
stuck
there
.
By
"
sunny
"
I
had
picked
up
the
pen
,
by
"
islands
"
I
was
writing
the
number
on
my
hand
,
and
by
the
time
she
’
d
gotten
to
"
UV
warning
"
I
was
out
of
bed
and
on
my
way
to
the
armory
.
That
was
my
wake
-
up
routine
.
