“I’m sorry. I’ve almost got it licked though. I’m never touching another drop. Going on the wagon. I’m quitting. That was it last night, I promise. I’m done,” he said.
Paulie and Will were friends because they were almost the same age and lived next door to each other but Will spent more time with his brothers, John and Stevie, than the neighbors. Will and Paulie kind of looked alike, though, and when they walked around town people thought they were brothers, or “Irish twins,” as Mr. Carey at Carey’s market said.
He’d pretty much decided he was going to enlist, thinking the navy would be better than just getting drafted and sent to who knows where in Vietnam. Will knew how to act in a bar because he’d gone with his older brother John to St. Jean’s Social Club many times; he knew you just keep to yourself or shout “yeah right” in reply to a joke or to deflect an insult.
Three little girls were walking up the steep part of a dirt road toward the wooden railroad bridge. So much happened at the railroad bridge. It was where they could find all the other kids in the neighborhood who had bare feet and scabby knees like they had. It was a place to play, and talk, and underneath was a perfect hiding place.