injured tender_square "bob was always moaning about his injury." dad sipped black coffee across from me in the diner booth. "was it clear that uncle bob actually served?" "he said he'd been in vietnam, but bob was a teller of tall tales," dad explained. "he often played up being a veteran to anyone who'd listen. no one really knows." "sounds a lot like my tenant," i mused. he never saw a day of combat in the air force, though he claims he was injured during service and has ptsd. "bob got involved with all the gossip at arbour court. i would tell him, 'just shut your damn door.'" i nodded. "that place really went downhill after grandma was no longer managing it, huh?" "i remember going over there with some trim bob was going to paint for me. i knocked on his door and there was no answer. i looked through the halls and couldn't find him. i went around the outside of the building and saw his body lying on the other side of his sliding glass door." my dad had never given the details of that day before. "you know, i call 911, and they're telling me to do all these things and i'm saying to them, 'i’m not doing that. he's cold. he's dead.' he had been there for a while, you could tell." "i suppose you can never really get over the shock of seeing a friend like that," i offered. "it was better than seeing kenny; at least bob died of a heart attack and didn't suffer the way kenny did." my father began to wheeze dramatically. "so many friends lost to smoking: kenny, my brother jim, leo..." 230619 what's it to you? who go blather from